Archive of Our Own ^beta

Richie is convinced that this is the best idea he’s had in his entire life. 

“Richie,” Bev comments, jabbing a pin way too close to his dick for comfort. “This might be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Well, it’s the best idea of his entire life to some people. Himself mostly – maybe even exclusively – but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

“Aw, come on, Red,” he whines, trying not to flinch. He can’t help the fact that he twitches each time the needle gets too close to his skin. As if Richie is the problem for wanting to avoid getting stabbed. It’s not like he’s good at keeping still on a typical day, but his restlessness is even worse trapped like this in Beverly’s bedroom. It’s enough to drive Beverly insane, and every time he moves, she makes sure he has another close encounter with death. Seriously, it’s like she’s doing it on purpose now. “You really don’t think Eddie is going to find this funny? Not even a little?”

Beverly leans back on her calves and sends a withering stare in his direction. Richie has long since learned that Bev is all bark and (almost) no bite, which means he’s immune to her fury. Mostly. The only time he really fears for his life is whenever he’s stupid enough to tease her about Ben, which always earns him a kick in the direction of his balls. “Just to clarify,” she states, speaking slowly like you might to a toddler. “You’re asking me if I think that your plan to dress up as Santa Claus, climb up that dead tree outside his house in the freezing cold, and knock on his bedroom window in the middle of the night is a good idea?”

Richie pouts. “I was actually asking if you thought he might find it all chuckalicious, but now that I’m hearing you spell it out like that, it sounds like you think this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea, Richie,” she replies, adopting a high-pitched voice that he instantly recognizes as sarcasm. “Especially if you want Eddie to finally fulfill his lifelong promise of killing you.” Bev surveys one leg of the red pants and frowns before reaching out to mess with the stitching, correcting some error Richie can’t see. “I’ll be sure to cry real hard at your funeral. ‘Here lies Richie, a.k.a. Trashmouth, Tozier. He died as he lived: in Eddie’s bedroom, strangled into silence.”

Richie barks out a laugh and ducks his head to hide his burning cheeks. He really inherited old Went’s genes; he blushes almost as easily as he sunburns in the summer, quick to turn red as a tomato at the slightest thing. Honestly, it’s a shock that no one figured out he had a big fat crush on Eddie sooner. Most of his childhood was spent blushing fire-engine red every time he got within ten feet of him and his insanely tiny little shorts. 

“Seriously,” Beverly continues, “I’ve imagined Eddie killing you about a hundred different ways, but I never thought you’d take your final breath in a Santa suit. Classic Trashmouth. You’re just full of surprises.” 

The funny thing is that Richie had never exactly planned this surprise. He’d been struggling to figure out what to give Eddie for Christmas – an important gift, of course, but even more so because this was their first official Christmas as boyfriends. It wasn’t until this idea fell perfectly into his lap – pun fully intended – that he found the perfect gift.

He’d been shopping at the mall in Bangor last week with his mom when he saw it. One Santa costume, pre-packaged and ready to be worn. Of course, the only size they had was large, but that was a minor flaw. Richie might be nearly six feet tall, but he was still bony and gangly as fuck. Luckily, he just so happens to have a best friend with a major knack for fixing clothes, someone who could probably alter the suit to fit just right. 

Even though he was compelled to buy it, he still didn't understand what he would do with it until he heard The Drifters crooning through the speakers, singing over and over about a “White Christmas.” Suddenly, it was like all the stars aligned and a lightbulb flared to life above Richie’s head. 

See, it was a simple idea really. Utterly foolproof. Richie would dress up as Santa and surprise Eddie on Christmas, just after midnight and long after Mrs. K was sure to be fast asleep in bed. And if he set the mood just right, then he could put the best part of the plan in motion. He’d give Eddie a white Christmas alright – by fucking him within an inch of his life, right there in his childhood bedroom.  

The Losers, of course, knew nothing about this part of the plan. All they knew was that Richie was willing to risk his life to do something for stupid for a laugh like always, and Richie thought he ought to keep it that way. 

“Eddie might surprise you,” Richie tells Bev now, watching her work through the mirror. “Maybe he’s going to be really into this whole Santa thing!”

He suppresses a laugh when Bev wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I know you two are attached at the hip and that Eddie is obsessed with you or whatever, but I think he’d draw the line at you dressed like an ancient Christmas god.”

“Is Santa a god?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, distractedly tugging at his outfit. The suit is still pretty baggy, but it fits him so much better than before. At the very least, his pants won’t fall down on their own – only whenever he or Eddie rip them off. “What else would you call some old guy who’s been alive for centuries and magically delivers gifts into your house?” 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping…”

“And he knows when you’re awake,” she finishes, expression grim.

Richie considers this for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, that’s just even more proof that showing up at his house is a great idea. Man,” he says, almost dreamily, “he’s going to hate it when I whisper that I saw him sleeping once I wake him up.”

Beverly leans back, considering. “Yeah. He’s going to kill you.”

“Eddie is capable of more than murder!” Richie swears. “A visit from ‘lil ‘ol Santa Claus is exactly what he needs. Better me than another lump of coal in his stocking.”

That was another reason why Richie wanted Eddie to have a perfect Christmas. Mrs. K believed in Christmas, but she definitely didn’t believe in gifts. Typical, since her favorite part about Christmas was reminding Eddie that he should be a good boy all the time just like Jesus was, all the while never using the same logic for how she treated her own son. The rest of the Losers had stepped in to gift Eddie over the years instead, mostly through Secret Santa gift exchanges and carefully arranged plans to get him whatever he wanted most as a present each year. 

Maybe Richie could agree that he was making a stupid assumption about showing up at Eddie’s window in costume being the perfect gift. But Richie knows him better than anyone. And he knows how badly Eddie has been itching to unwind – how pent up he gets, always tense like a rubberband about to snap. With Christmas all around them and his mom worse than ever, Eddie needs a break, and Richie is the perfect person to give him one. He knows exactly how to pull him out of his head and how to throw him to the mercy of sensation. There’s no better way to show Eddie how much he means this year. All he has to do is write a naughty little list and check it once or twice. 

Maybe even three times if they’re lucky. 

“Christmas is Eddie’s favorite holiday,” Bev warns, as if Richie had somehow forgotten. 

He knew that better than the rest of them. 

Richie was the one who grew up with Eddie, watching him during the holidays like everyone watched pretty Christmas lights. Who needed those when Eddie was right there, practically glowing with joy the entire season? His face lit up during snowball fights, laughing and screaming in glee regardless of whether he was the one being hit. On the rare occasions Mrs. K granted him permission to attend a sleepover, Eddie would slurp down giant mugs of hot chocolate with fluffy marshmallows, eyes glued to every single Christmas movie, wide and gleaming. They’d snuck some of Richie’s holiday records into the alcove above the Kaspbrak’s garage, and Richie was the only one that got to hear Eddie quietly sing along to all his favorite songs, seemingly unaware he was singing at all. 

“I know,” Richie says, opting not to explain how he already knew that Christmas was as necessary to Eddie’s happiness as Eddie himself was to Richie’s.

“You can’t screw this up for him,” she continues, words muffled against the spare needle pressed between her lips. “He’d never forgive you.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to ruin Eddie’s Christmas?” he asks, throwing his hands up in irritation. “I’m the one who saved up all summer to get him that GameBoy he wanted for his birthday. He loved that! Not all my ideas are bad.” 

“We know that,” she assures him, her voice turning gentle. “But there’s a difference between the most coveted gaming console of the year and a sixteen-year-old in a beard tumbling through your window.”

“Touchè,” Richie grumbles, momentarily abashed. “It’s not like I’m going there just to piss him off though. I have plans!”

“Plans,” Bev repeats. She stabs him with another needle and Richie howls, dramatically hopping on one foot. “Richie, if you don’t stand still, then I’m going to make sure your pants are loose enough that you tumble right down Eddie’s roof!”

“That sounds like the plot of a good movie,” he replies absently, still thinking about her warning. “Bev, do you really think he’s going to be mad?”

“Of course I do.” Richie’s frown deepens, a wave of uncertainty washing over him for the first time since he bought the suit. “But I know Eddie loves you, and you love him, so I doubt that’ll last longer than five minutes. You know him best after all.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You do,” she repeats, kinder than before. That’s one of the things Richie loves best about Beverly. She can sense that fine line between teasing and kindness that Richie hasn’t mastered. “You know, none of us really think you’re going to ruin his Christmas, right?”

“I mean, I’m pretty confident–”

“Well, you probably won’t ruin it.”

“Probably!” Richie squawks, feigning outrage. Truthfully, he’s relieved to hear her say that even as a part of him still wallows in self-doubt. 

“Mike figures there’s an eighty-percent chance this goes alright, so I think your odds are good. Just don’t make me lose my bet on you, okay?”

Richie pauses to process that. “You fuckers bet on me?”

“Yeah. Me, Mike, and Ben bet in your favor.”

“So, what, Bill and Stan think I’m going to fuck this up?”

“Of course they do. It’s Bill and Stan,” Bev answers, heavy emphasis on both of their names.

“...Okay, point taken,” Richie agrees, begrudgingly. They were both the two miserable pessimists of the group, after all. It made perfect sense. “I guess I gotta make sure you win that bet then, huh, Red? How else are you and Ben going to fund another date?”

This time, Richie is sure she stabs him with the needles on purpose. He definitely earned that one. But as long as she can get the suit done in time, he’ll let one evil pinprick slide. 

~ 🧑🎄 ~

It’s possible that Richie’s best ideas often lack forethought. 

Okay, it’s more than possible. It’s a known fact. Richie always seems to have these “brilliant” ideas that require at least two of the Losers – or just one Eddie – to talk him down from a metaphorical ledge. Hell, sometimes they have to talk him down the entire cliffside before any of them sound even remotely doable. 

Unfortunately, this is not the kind of idea he can easily discuss with one Eddie or two Losers. None of them can know what he’s got planned for tonight. If he told them, then Eddie really might kill him – he’s surprisingly sensitive about the Losers knowing about their very, very active sex life. Contrary to popular belief, Richie is actually pretty fucking great at keeping secrets. Especially when they’re getting him laid. 

The thing is that Richie would swear to anyone that this is absolutely one of his best ideas to date. But that can’t stop the simmering anxiety in the back of his mind that’s been brewing since he last talked to Beverly. 

Richie knows that Eddie isn’t going to be that mad when he appears at his window tonight – especially after he reveals the real surprise is more than Richie in a stupid costume. But he also knows how carefully Eddie balances every aspect of his life, that their time together is a private, separate thing that he makes sure is far away from the eyes and ears of his mom. Knowing that Eddie was gay might give her a heart attack, but if she found out her son was dating Richie… well, that might just kill her. 

Mrs. K never cared much for Richie, even when he was nothing but a snot-nosed kid. Her resentment began on the very first day Eddie introduced Richie as his friend, and it continued to stew for the next eleven years. Richie was too loud, too crass, and too dirty to be around her precious Eddie. These were all things she’d said about him when he was in the room – he couldn’t imagine what things Eddie had heard over the years. It’s not like he’d ever tell Richie about it.

The fact that she vehemently disliked him from such a young age never felt very fair to Richie. His mom had raised him well enough to know how to behave around adults – she wouldn’t have let him out the house otherwise. But most adults didn’t care about Richie’s manners when they could barely tolerate him. His restlessness was proof he was careless, and his nonstop talking evidence that he must be trouble, or at the very least a lost cause. Mrs. K had been no exception to that rule, but it had always been worse. 

When he was younger, he’d wanted her to like him so bad. If she could like him, even for a second, it meant that she’d give Eddie permission to come hang out with Richie for the afternoon, a day, maybe even an entire night if they could turn a playdate into a sleepover. Stuff like that had mattered then, back when they were kids with about as much freedom as a dog on a leash. It especially mattered to Richie, who had known even at the tender age of five-years-old that Eddie was his favorite person on the entire planet. Mrs. K’s tolerance – at the minimum – would have ensured they could hang out as much as possible, no lies required.

But even as a kid, Richie had felt like her hatred of him was different. He thought about it even now, on late nights when Eddie was asleep and he was left with nothing else to do. He’d felt that Mrs. K was certain about the core of Richie in a way that had taken him years of homophobic taunts and bullying from a literal space clown to recognize. He’d never admit as much to Eddie, but he often wonders if Mrs. K somehow knew that he was gay from the very moment he appeared on her front porch, naively asking if he and Eddie could go play. 

He’d wondered if that was when she’d decided that he was a disease, another thing that threatened to take her precious son away from her. Or, even worse, he wondered if she saw him as something that could kill Eddie. As if being near Richie or being gay was some kind of fucking plague designed to target her alone. As if being gay was wrong, and evil, and dangerous. He used to think all those things about himself. 

Maybe it wasn’t fair to assign those insecurities to Mrs. K, but Richie would see the hatred in her eyes whenever she had to so much as breathe in the vicinity of him and realize that maybe his assumptions weren’t that wrong after all. 

He’d given up on trying to win her approval a long time ago. Nothing he’d done had ever made any difference, which meant Richie stayed on the receiving end of a passionate hatred that she normally reserved for… well, just about everything, but especially him. Luckily, Eddie has gotten better at lying to his mom over the years, so it didn’t matter if Sonia Kaspbrak liked him anymore. Instead, Richie put all his energy into pissing her off with a smile and a quip that sat comfortably on the border of sincere and insulting, which was way more fun. 

Besides, Richie understands something about hatred these days. Ever since Eddie confessed the truth about what happened to him during that summer – and what his mother has been doing to him for all these years – he realized that he too held the capacity to hate someone with every fiber of his being. He hates Sonia Kaspbrak for what she’s done to him, the placebos and the fake asthma and all the years of Eddie’s life fucking wasted because she wanted to manipulate and control him. The fact that Eddie had to bargain his freedom for willful ignorance… Richie had never been more furious in his life.

Everyone knows that Richie isn’t a violent person. In fact, anyone would tell you that Richie is the kind of guy in a fight who loves to talk shit but runs for the hills at the first sign of trouble, often ducking behind his stronger, braver friends. But for one horrifying moment after Eddie told him the truth, Richie thought about doing something awful to her. He imagined confronting her, fighting her, forcing her to admit what she’d done as if that alone could make her atone for the sin of controlling her son like he was some fucking toy and not an entire person, a person that Richie loved. 

Richie didn’t do any of that. Instead, he left Eddie and stormed off in the opposite direction of the Kaspbrak residence, as far from her as he could get before he did something stupid that he’d regret. It took hours for Eddie to find him again, tucked away in a tree near the clubhouse and staring out at the horizon. Richie promised Eddie that he’d never tell another soul, but only after Eddie swore that he had it handled. Richie believed him. Despite what people thought of Eddie, he wasn't an idiot. Of course he trusted Eddie when he swore that it was handled, and that he was just biding his time until graduation, college, and a future far, far away from his mom.  

It helped that Richie realized, right there in an old tree, that Eddie’s future included him. Eddie was dreaming of a life together, their life, one where they got the fuck out of Derry and headed to Literally Anywhere Else, U.S.A., to be together and happy. Free. If it weren’t for Eddie’s assurance, Richie might have done something stupid anyway. But it was Eddie. It would always be Eddie. Richie trusted him more than he trusted anyone else, and he'd do whatever it took to make him happy. If letting her deception go meant that Eddie could live the life he deserved, then Richie would swallow his anger.

He just wanted whatever was best for Eddie, because Eddie deserved only good things. 

This year, he deserved a good Christmas, one that was better than all the rest. He deserved a fucking break, just once, because he’s spent every year of his life being stressed out or lied to or living a lie just to keep his mom from going completely ballistic. 

So Richie is going to go through with his stupid plan. He's going to dress up in a Santa suit because he knows it will make Eddie laugh even if he makes himself look like an idiot. It’s nothing new, not for Richie, not when it comes to Eddie. He’ll happily embarrass himself in the name of love, because Eddie is everything.

He’s kind and thoughtful, and he never means it when he tells Richie to shut up, and his eyes sparkle whenever he laughs at one of Richie’s stupid jokes. It’s like the entire world lights up when he does. He bandages Richie’s many wounds – all the ones he gets when he’s too distracted and trips into something, or the ones he’s on the receiving end of when his mouth says something that leads to Bowers and his goons punching Richie after calling him every slur in the book. Eddie tends them all with steady hands and tells Richie something cool he learned in Biology class, settling every one of his nervous habits and distracted tendencies. 

Sometimes, Richie is sure that Eddie is the bravest person he knows. How do you thank someone for being the best thing in the world, the one constant that makes you feel loved? Richie doesn’t know. But he knows that no one deserves even a quarter of what Eddie’s been through. Eddie’s life is a tightrope act of control and Richie wants to teach him how to let go. 

So maybe Beverly is right. Maybe Eddie is going to bitch at him from the very moment Richie knocks on his windowsill, decked out in an ill-fitting red suit and wearing a stupid fake beard. But then Richie will coax Eddie into a fantasy, allow him to let go of all his fears and control and just exist, and maybe Eddie will finally understand what he can’t seem to find the words to say. That Richie loves him, of course, and wants what’s best for him, and that he’d do anything to make his life better. Especially if that meant fucking him into a state of pure, uninhibited bliss. 

~ 🧑🎄 ~

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Except for Richie in his room, pulling on the shitty little costume and making sure the beard fits just right. Once he’s satisfied with how he looks in the mirror, he creeps downstairs and sneaks out the back door to where he’d hidden his bike earlier that day. This is a good idea, he thinks, assuring himself yet again, and swings a leg over the bike seat.

It stops feeling like a good idea when he realizes the cold metal is going to freeze his dick off before he ever makes it to Eddie’s house. 

Richie hisses, spine straightening, and uses his feet on the pedals to catapult his body up until he’s hovering above the cold seat. “Fuck!” he curses, still shivering. 

It hadn’t occurred to him before that this suit was a cheap imitation, lined with absolutely no fur or anything even closely resembling warmth. Richie is the idiot wearing nothing beneath the costume except his boxer-briefs, of course – sue him for wanting the experience of climbing out of the costume to be as quick as possible.

Thankfully, Eddie’s house is a short, eight-minute bike ride away. Richie gingerly lowers himself back onto the seat, wincing when his legs come into contact with the cold bike frame again. He grits his teeth and forces himself into motion, thinking about how sweet Eddie will look from the window, curled up in bed… 

… only for his illusion to shatter as he picks up speed and gets pelted by sharp blasts of icy, winter wind and snow against his exposed face and bare ankles. Despite all his planning, somehow Richie fucking forgot that they were in the middle of winter. This is exactly the kind of shit Eddie would have ranted about until he was red in the face, long enough that eventually it might have occurred to Richie to at least put on some gloves or a pair of socks.

But it’s way too late to fix that now, and he's not turning back. He doesn’t want to show up at Eddie’s window in a giant winter coat – it would ruin the entire Santa illusion, and completely defeat the point of being in costume. Bitterly, he figures the only way out is through, and so Richie decides to pedal faster than he’s ever pedaled in his life. Maybe even faster than the time they left Neibolt in a hurry to make sure Richie didn’t kill Eddie by resetting his fucking arm. 

The ride passes in a blur, and it’s not until he’s skidding to a stop half a block down the street that he glances at his watch and realizes he made it here in a tight five minutes. Maybe Eddie was on to something when he said that Richie could really do something if he actually applied himself.

If only applying himself always meant he got rewarded with Eddie’s ass at the end of it. 

Richie hops off his bike, ignoring the fact he’s been slowly developing hypothermia since he first walked outside. He rolls the bike to the familiar bush where he always stashes it, a spot first discovered by necessity. In the weeks following their confrontation with It, neither one of them had been able to sleep without waking up from nightmares. Eventually, Richie started sneaking over to Eddie’s house in the middle of the night for comfort, only to discover that Eddie wasn’t faring much better. They’d spent nights talking instead before eventually developing a system for sleep, one that meant Richie got to crawl into Eddie’s bed, alarms ringing just a few hours later that would ensure he was out of Eddie’s room before Mrs. K ever caught him. 

Luckily, old Mr. King was way too senile to notice the bike regularly appearing in his yard that didn’t belong. Richie smiles to himself now, tucking his bike away, and thinks back on those nights when just lying next to Eddie in bed was enough to make his heart race. He’d watch Eddie drift off mid-sentence, and then would lie awake another hour thinking about how surreal it was to be next to Eddie at all, wondering if he was wrong for taking advantage of him when he knew how he felt about his best friend. Back then, he was sure that his best friend would never feel the same. 

Sometimes, Richie can’t believe that after everything Pennywise and the entire town of Derry put him through – the constant fear of being found out, as if he were walking around town with a giant sign on his back that read faggot – that he gets to have Eddie at all. 

Once his bike is hidden, he makes his way over to Eddie’s backyard at a brisk pace, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. The backyard gate is locked, of course, but jumping over it is a lot easier for Richie these days since his growth spurt. He’s gotten so good at sneaking in that the chain link fence doesn’t even rattle, meaning he’s successfully bypassed Mrs. K’s supposedly foolproof security system into their backyard. 

He walks around the back of the house, coming to a stop at the base of the tree near Eddie’s window. He glances up its trunk, hopping from foot to foot while he considers his ascent. Beverly wasn’t exactly wrong about the tree being dead. It’s got a couple of rotted branches, but those are easy enough to spot in the daytime. 

Except it’s definitely not daytime. 

But it’s the only way into Eddie’s room without getting caught. Richie had once tried to climb the garden trellis before and nearly broken it in two. Luckily, Mrs. K blamed that on Mr. King’s crazy dog, which meant she still didn’t know that her worst enemy had been sneaking into her son’s bedroom for months. 

Richie can hear something that sounds an awful lot like Eddie’s voice in the back of his mind, droning on about how risky it is to climb this tree in the middle of night, and doesn’t Richie know that it’s one good storm from splitting into two? Eddie would probably tell him that Richie is more likely to snap his fucking neck than climb that tree at this hour. 

Eddie probably wouldn’t be wrong. But the fact of the matter is that it’s below freezing outside, and Eddie’s room promises both warmth and Eddie, so it’s not like Richie has any other choice.

So, naturally, Richie does the thing that everyone would tell him not to do. He climbs the fucking tree. 

Honestly, he’s, like, seventy percent sure that he remembers how to get up there without breaking his neck. The rotted branches are the ones just below Eddie’s window. He just needs to keep to the branches on the left. It sounds easy enough. 

Using his feet to propel himself into motion, Richie swings from branch to branch, quickly making his way up the tree. It’s so fun that he starts pretending like he’s Tarzan. 

It’s not so fun when, moments later, he feels the air evaporate from his lungs when he reaches out for the next branch and finds a slick surface where he doesn’t manage to grab hold.

Smack!

“Ow!” Richie howls, quiet as possible. He lands flat on his ass, a good ten feet below the branch he’d slipped right off. It’s a good thing that it had been snowing all day or else he would have fallen onto the cold hard ground and probably broken his tailbone. Slowly, he peels himself off the ground, taking a second to shake out each limb and make sure everything is still in working order. Aside from the cold and the fact his ass hurts, everything else seems to be just fine, which is good news for Eddie as much as it is him. 

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, rolling his shoulders back and then shaking them out like a fighter. “No monkeying around this time. Just climbing. That’s a piece of cake. Santa does all this shit on a roof, right? How hard can a half-frozen tree be?” He pauses, considering. “That’s what she said,” he mutters, and then has to cover his snicker. 

He stands up and retraces his steps, climbing the tree at a slower pace than before. Branch by branch, he progresses, taking a moment to make sure his grip on each one is firm before springing his body weight onto it. Some branches crack under the pressure, ice splintering off in his hands, and again he wishes Eddie had known in advance that Richie was doing this. He would have nagged him enough that it would have at least occurred to him to grab gloves, which would have made this climb about fifty percent less treacherous, even if it meant he would have had to admit to Eddie that he was right about something.

After a long few minutes, he finally nears the top of the tree, only two or three branches away from Eddie’s window. But he’s also near the part of the tree where the branches are rotted, and it turns out that Richie’s memory is… well, it’s actually pretty shit. He can’t remember what fucking branches are going to snap under his weight. He hugs the tree trunk and leans forward, squinting to look closer as if that will someone compensate for the fact his glasses are half-fogged. 

As he adjusts his position, he manages to catch a swatch of faint, golden light spilling out from Eddie’s window that illuminates part of the bark. Good, he thinks, half-distracted by the puzzle in front of him. At least he’s not going to be pissed that I woke him up. 

Richie does little else but shiver for the next few minutes, frozen in place until he realizes that he can either stare at tree limbs for the rest of the night or just hurry up and get inside to Eddie. If worst comes to worst, Eddie will probably hear him scream should he end up dropping back to the ground several dozen feet below. 

He inches forward and reaches out for the branch in the middle, trusting his gut. Once he’s got a firm grip, he straightens up and rocks back on his feet, preparing to jump. The branch creaks ominously beneath his weight but doesn’t snap, so Richie takes that as a good sign and sends a silent prayer up to Santa or whatever other old fucking gods out there are responsible for ensuring he doesn’t die in the process. The branch holds when he lands, and Richie exhales in relief. He looks up, ready to climb onto the windowsill so he can grab Eddie’s attention. 

It’s exactly at that moment where he realizes he chose the wrong branch after all.

In Richie’s defense, it was the right branch since it didn’t cause him to plummet to his death or, at the very least, lead to him breaking several bones. But it didn’t get him close enough to Eddie’s window to get inside. In fact, he’s about eight feet short of where he should be. He glances right at the closest branch, now completely certain it’s one of the rotted branches that would end his life. But the other, safer branch is a bit too far away from him to reasonably jump onto, especially considering every other branch he’s touched has been coated in ice. 

Basically, Richie is fucked. And not even the fun kind. He’s either going to have to plunge back to the ground and pray he doesn’t die, or he can make another half-baked prayer to Santa and take a leap that he’s pretty sure will fail. 

This time, he doesn’t pause very long to consider. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth as he makes his way to the edge of the tree branch. Taking a deep breath, Richie balances himself for a moment longer before taking a giant leap, hands outstretched and eyes locked on Eddie’s window. There’s a horrific crack from below, and Richie barely has time to realize his only escape plan just fell off the tree before he manages to grab hold of Eddie’s windowsill. 

His hands curl into panicked claws, fingernails digging into the wood to keep from slipping. Once he catches his breath, he reaches up and knocks at the window ungracefully, completely eliminating the element of surprise. He immediately hears Eddie yelp, and Richie would probably take the time to make fun of him for it if he weren’t in such a clearly vulnerable position. He needs Eddie’s help a lot more than he needs his irritation. 

He hangs there for a while, and he’s about to knock again on the window, louder than before, when he hears the bed creak. Seconds later, the window is yanked open, the force of which barely misses Richie’s fingers.

“Richie?” Eddie calls out, not yet visible. 

“No, it’s Santa Claus,” Richie answers, unable to keep himself from committing to the bit even as he’s hanging in mid-air. “I forgot to hook up the reindeer, so I parked the sleigh down the street. Hey, help an old man up, okay Eds? I wanted to come down your chimney, really, but you didn’t have one! I had to sneak in the old-fashioned way.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eddie hisses, sticking his head out the window to survey Richie properly. 

Richie drinks him in, a sight for sore eyes even though he literally saw Eddie about five hours ago at the annual Losers Christmas party. He’d been buttoned up like always, wearing some stupid sweater and a button-up shirt beneath it like a total square, hair gelled back except for that little cowlick he can’t seem to tame. Ben had given him the portable CD player he’d been loudly wishing he had for the last five months, and Richie had taken great pleasure in watching his eyes light up brighter than the string lights when he’d torn away the wrapping paper. There had been a warm and pleased smile permanently on his face for the rest of the night, and Richie couldn’t be faulted for the way his gaze kept drifting there, drawn to Eddie like a moth to a flame. 

Eddie was not smiling right now. His face is screwed into a scowl, brow pinched while he stares down at him with narrowed eyes. Richie doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s probably cursing him out while wondering how long he has left before he falls and breaks every bone in his body. 

Admittedly, Richie should be concerned about that, too, but he’s too busy staring at Eddie’s hair, free from the confines of the gel and curling against his forehead. He might look mad, but Richie knows him well enough to know that pinched expression is worry and fear instead of anger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie repeats, seemingly perplexed. Richie can relate. “Why are you–”

“Okay, dipshit, ask me questions later,” Richie hisses, dropping the Santa act for a second. “Can you please just help me inside? I climbed this tree and it was half frozen, and the branch I was on snapped, and it’s fucking cold out here, Eds. I’m pretty sure my balls are literally shrinking, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep holding on to–

Halfway through Richie’s complaints, Eddie scrambles into action and grabs him by the hands. For a split second, his touch is a warm and welcome relief against the cold. But then Eddie digs his nails into Richie’s forearms, gripping him tight enough to drag him inside. Richie almost complains about the rough handling that’s definitely earning him a new host of bruises to compliment the ones he got earlier, but he’s pretty sure Eddie would seriously consider dropping him if he so much as opens his mouth. 

Plus, if he breathes even a hint of medical duress to Eddie, they are not going to be having sex tonight. Instead, he’s going to get a front row seat to the Dr. K special, and as much as he loves that, he’s not going to derail his entire gift just because he feels like whining.

Eddie unceremoniously pulls Richie across the windowsill and halfway into his room. Richie only has a few, fleeting seconds to consider how deceptively strong Eddie is despite being so fucking small, and then suddenly he’s being jerked the rest of the way into the room and dragged upwards until Eddie’s got him pushed into the wall, slapping a hand over Richie’s mouth. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Eddie demands. Richie lifts his eyebrows and drops his gaze to Eddie’s hand, as if to remind him that he can’t actually reply, but that only makes Eddie push his hand further into Richie’s mouth. “No, shut up, shut the fuck up,” he hisses, glancing away from Richie to watch the door. Which, okay, hot, but that still doesn’t leave him a whole lot of room for breathing or talking or anything that would explain–

“I can’t believe you,” Eddie begins. “You show up in the middle of the night dressed like a discount mall Santa, and you have the audacity to ask if you can come down my chimney? What the fuck do you mean you climbed a tree? In this weather? Are you an idiot? Jesus Christ, don’t answer that, I know you fucking are, but this is insane, Richie, you can’t just…” 

Eddie says all those words real fast, squished together and hushed. Richie knows he’s trying not to get caught by his mom, but he keeps his hand over Richie’s mouth as if Richie isn’t trying to avoid the same fate. 

Except. Well. If Richie thinks about it for more than five seconds, he can see how Eddie might jump to that conclusion. Climbing through someone’s window in the middle of the night after nearly toppling from the second story of their house doesn’t really scream secret mission. It occurs to him yet again that Beverly might have been right. He really should have thought this plan through.

But instead of reconsidering his life choices, he decides to get this show on the road. Rather than apologizing, or doing something sensible that would soothe Eddie’s nerves, Richie works his jaw open just wide enough to lick a stripe from the heel of Eddie’s hand all the way up his middle finger.

Eddie jerks his hand away, frowning harder than what should be humanly possible. “You are disgusting! You know I hate it when you do that, you could have just used your words–”

“Even if I could have talked past your hand suffocating me,” Richie snaps back, “I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!” There’s no real bite to his complaints; Richie is only saying shit to get him all riled up like usual. He’s so cute when he’s frowning like this, eyes sparking bright like embers in a flame. “Geez, Eddie, I climbed up a half-frozen tree to get up here and this is the thanks I get!”

Eddie gapes at him. “No one asked you to break your neck for Christmas, dipshit.”

“Eddie, baby, you never have to ask,” he purrs, leaning forward until their noses are close enough to brush. Had it been a year ago, Eddie would have nearly snapped his neck trying to pull away fast enough. Now, he lets Richie get in his space, their breath mingling between them. Eddie’s smells as sweet as a candy cane, peppermint wafting into Riche’s face when he sighs. 

“I hate you,” he declares. “I despise you. I’m going to push you out the window and watch as you sever your spinal cord.”

Richie leans back, grinning. “You’re such a sweet talker, baby. Good thing you know exactly how to fix me up. Isn’t that right, Dr. K?”

There’s not much light in Eddie’s room, save for the lamp in the corner and a single candle burning by his bed. But there’s enough that Richie can see the way Eddie’s cheeks burn red in reply. “The only thing I need to fix is your brain to mouth filter, you dick.”

“Dick to mouth, you mean,” Richie jokes. Eddie rolls his eyes but Richie can see the way he’s fighting a tiny smile now, a dimple peeking out from his cheek. “Eddie, baby,” he murmurs, and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine the way Eddie’s cheeks turn even redder. “You know I love it when you talk dirty to me, but I’m actually here with a purpose.” 

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, leaning away. He crosses his arms against his chest, and it’s only with the space between them that Richie can fully appreciate his sleep clothes. He’s got on a long-sleeved button pajama shirt that practically dwarfs him completely, the sleeves falling just below his knuckles. It makes him look soft and cuddly, like a teddy bear that Richie wants to squeeze tight. But then his eyes drift lower and his throat goes dry as he takes in those old, worn red shorts that Eddie should have donated years ago when he outgrew them. They hardly fit him now since he filled out, hips and thighs and ass that weren’t there before when Richie used to dream about him dressed like this at thirteen. 

Thank god he stopped wearing these in public. Richie might truly go fucking insane if he had to be subjected to this for an entire day. Out of jealousy or lust, he’s not sure, but either option would lead to the destruction of the single thing that he cherishes almost as much as Eddie himself.

Richie shivers, less from his slowly fattening dick and more from the chill in the air. It’s then that he realizes that the window is still open. Eddie is barely dressed, and Richie has already nearly frozen his own dick off enough for them both. He steps away from Eddie to shut the window, but once Eddie realizes what he’s doing, he lets out a low noise in warning. “Rich, don’t–”

Too late. Richie forgot that Eddie’s window is heavier than it looks, and that you have to be gentle with it to keep it from slamming back down to the bottom of the frame. It falls shut with a dull thud, but they both tense in fear and pray they don’t hear the creak of floorboards. Only a couple minutes pass, but it feels like a lifetime before they both realize that Richie didn’t wake Mrs. K up after all.

“Great thinking,” Eddie says, finally, breathing out a long sigh. “You’ll get us both killed. Merry fucking Christmas!”

“Aw, come on, have some faith in me,” Richie replies, hiding the fact his heart feels like it’s trying to hammer out of his chest. He knows the real gift will more than make up for the momentary fear of getting caught, and maybe even the consequences that followed if they did get caught tonight. Not that they will. Richie might like the appeal of it, but he’d rather not get castrated or banned from seeing Eddie ever again.

Still… knowing what he’s going to do to Eddie while his mom is sleeping soundly down the hall, that she could wake up any second… well, it’s fucking hot. And it’s the sweetest revenge Richie could ever dream.

“You said you came here with a purpose,” Eddie repeats. He cuts his eyes down Richie’s body to examine the costume, considering. “What kind of dumbass shit is this, Rich?”

“I need a little more Christmas spirit than that to reveal my plans.”

“I’m not going to fucking–”

“‘Hi Santa,’” Richie says, pitching his voice up in an Eddie impression he knows that Eddie hates. “‘Gee whiz, thanks for dropping by! Does this mean I made the nice list this year? Am I getting a present?’”

Eddie is decidedly unimpressed. “Richie, if you came all the way here to do a fucking bit, you can just leave the way you came.”

“Well, I can’t actually,” Richie admits. “I kind of snapped a branch or two off in the process.”

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “Richie.”

“It’s fine!” Richie says quickly. “The tree is mostly still in one piece, and I’ll be able to sneak out with some sunlight. It was just the dark–”

“The morning?” Eddie asks, lifting his head again. His eyebrows are raised but his expression is curious, and Richie knows he’s got his attention now. “You’re spending the night?”

“I’m more than spending the night.” Richie steps closer and Eddie backs up on instinct, further and further until he’s at the foot of his bed. Perfect, Richie thinks, staring down at the smooth expanse of his chest exposed by the low collar of his top. “I told you I had plans, didn’t I?”

Eddie’s expression morphs completely, and his smile is practically liquid with how easily it comes to him. “Is that so? What kind of plans do you have for us, Santa?”

Richie feels his chest warm and his stomach swoop. That’s the thing people don’t get about Eddie. He’s as good to give as he gets it, and he’ll go along with any bit if it means he gets something out of it. Eddie once confessed that he’d always hated Richie’s jokes when they were kids because he thought Richie was making fun of him. It was only once Richie admitted it was more like pulling his pigtails that Eddie started to loosen up. 

“Well, Eddie,” he says, voice pitched low. “It’s a real white Christmas out there.”

Eddie’s lips quirk. “Seems like it. It’s really coming down.”

Richie nods, the beard scratching his neck as he does. “It’s too strong for me to fly around the world right now, so I figured I’d pause here for a bit. After all, I’ve got a nice present for you this year. Because I hear you’ve been really good.”

Eddie’s breath catches so sharply that Richie can hear it. “I-I have,” he stutters, a flush already seeping from his cheeks down to his chest. “What do I get for being good?” 

Richie could elongate the bit. It could be an entire thing, this roleplay, but he looks down at Eddie who’s already got those warm stars in his eyes and a flush to his and can’t think about anything except his own want. How badly Richie needs to fuck him, how much he wants to reach out and touch and peel his clothes away until there’s nothing between him and Eddie’s skin, how little he actually gives a fuck about the gag past getting inside Eddie’s room and taking him here, in his childhood bedroom, the one place they’ve never dared to fuck. 

He opens his mouth to reply, about to throw the entire act away, when Eddie surprises him by spinning him around to swap their positions. Eddie’s always surprising him, really. It’s one of the things Richie loves best. You just never know where that little shit is going next. 

“I’ve been really good,” Eddie murmurs. “Should I sit on your lap and tell you what I want this year?”

Richie swallows hard and drops to the bed faster than should be humanly possible. That’s the power Eddie holds over him. Eddie has been the object of his desires, his dreams and his wants and his dirtiest dreams for his entire life. It’ll always be Eddie for Richie – how could there be anyone else? 

“Come here,” Richie commands, and his voice sounds more wrecked than he feels. They haven’t even done anything and already he’s aching for Eddie, begging to be closer, for skin on skin contact. 

He spreads his legs and pats his thighs, bony and practically nothing, not like Eddie’s that are so plush. Richie wants to sink his fingers into them and so he does, reaching out and pulling Eddie forward until he takes the hint and sinks down onto Richie’s lap, legs swung over the side. Richie’s hand grazes up his thigh to the curve of his ass, lingering for only a moment before settling on his hip, somewhere that feels equally chaste and sensual all at once. Eddie squirms around, brushing against Richie’s dick, but neither of them acknowledge that just yet. 

“So,” Richie says, once he’s settled and warm in his lap, the weight tantalizingly close to what he needed and still light years away from what he wants. “You’re at the top of my nice list, Eddie Kaspbrak. You can have whatever you want this Christmas.”

“Yeah?”

Richie hums affirmatively. “What’s on your wishlist, Eddie?”

Eddie tilts his head and glances up like he’s thinking, screwing his lips into a pout. When he glances back at Richie, he’s smirking, and Richie feels his stomach swoop with a dangerous feeling. 

“I want you,” Eddie demands. His entire demeanor changes; he loses the teasing edge and reaches out to push Richie back into his bed, hard. Richie lets himself fall until he meets the headboard with a thud. He gasps sharply and tries to move away, but Eddie doesn’t let him get far. He swings his legs over Richie’s lap completely, his knees digging into the dips of his hips.

“Take this off,” Eddie whines, tugging at the cheap synthetic beard on Richie’s face. “I hate it. I want to see your face. I don’t want to have sex with Santa, you fucking idiot.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were practically drooling in my lap, begging,” Richie tuts. Eddie deliberately ignores him to run his fingers through Richie’s hair, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “Are you sure you want me to get out of character? How else am I gonna get permission to come down your chimney if I’m not Santa, Eds?” 

Eddie tugs on the beard even harder. He pulls the straps from behind Richie’s ears with a snap, apparently deciding he’ll just get rid of it himself. “You haven’t asked for permission the last fifteen times you came down my chimney. Don’t act like your weird fucking kink is suddenly going to make you polite, Trashmouth.” 

God, he loves when Eddie gets like this – bossy and a little pissed off. They both know he could tear into Richie if he wanted. He certainly has before. But they also know that it won’t last long if that’s how tonight goes, and it’s clear to Eddie that Richie has plans. Richie knows he’ll play along; he’s been doing it already. 

“Well, fuck me for trying to be polite,” he gripes playfully. Eddie’s nose wrinkles at the image of a polite Richie and he grins in reply, showing his teeth. “You know, Eds, I don’t like what you’re insinuating. I always ask your mother if it’s okay to down on her.” 

“Could you just once shut the fuck up about my mom when I’m on top of you?” Eddie complains, digging his knees further into Richie’s side. He’s probably bruising Richie’s fucking spleen or something. Eddie stares down at Richie with this manic little glint in his eye as he does so, the one that promises a challenge, and Richie feels an electric jolt travel down from his brain and head straight for his dick. He’s been half-hard since he noticed Eddie in those shorts, and he’s starting to get sick of waiting. 

“Maybe someday you’ll have your hand down my pants,” Richie fires back, impatient. “Geez, Eds, you’d think that it’s you wearing this Santa suit with how fast you’re moving.”

“And how fast is that?” Eddie murmurs, leaning closer into Richie. He can smell that peppermint on his breath again and, ridiculously, he’s struck with a vision of Eddie’s mouth wrapped around one of those giant candy canes Beverly had found in the general store. He’d been fixated on the image, thinking about how badly he wanted Eddie’s mouth on him instead, a dream made worse because he knew all too intimately what that felt like. Eddie had smiled at him from across the room, which only made Richie hornier. It was almost like the little shit was teasing him on purpose.  

There wouldn’t be any of that tonight. This was Richie’s gift, and he wasn’t about to let Eddie derail the night from what he’d intended. “You’re not moving fast enough at all,” he replies, and he couldn’t sound more carefree about it if he tried. Sure, they were always bickering, but in moments like this, Richie wanted nothing more than to make Eddie react. Usually that meant he had to use his words, but sometimes he could use his hands, or his mouth, or even… 

He shook that thought away, swallowing hard. Not now. Not yet. They had plenty of time for that once he had his way with Eddie. “I mean, honestly, Santa is probably the only old guy with great stamina on the entire planet,” Richie adds, “but here we are wasting all his energy just because you–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. Probably for the best since he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to say next.

Eddie crawls further into his lap, pressing their chests together until Richie can feel how hard his heart is pounding through the thin fabric of his shirt. Eddie is half-hard, too, and they both let out an involuntary gasp when their dicks brush through the fabric of their clothes. Before Richie can catch his breath, Eddie steals it again, pressing his mouth against Richie’s like he’s trying to resuscitate him.

Their kiss is anything but pure. Eddie doesn’t kiss as much as he does smash their mouths against each other, pressing into him as if they can fuse their bones together. It’s a wonder he doesn’t draw blood, and they kiss in a way that’s painful and bruising, in a way that Richie knows will lead to him waking up with a sore jaw and chapped lips rubbed raw by Eddie’s fervor. He loves staking his claim on Richie like this. Or maybe it’s just how he likes to shut him up best. 

Either way, it always works. Richie can’t do anything but whine as Eddie mauls him. His hips buck up from the bed involuntarily, rubbing their crotches together again, which makes Eddie hiss sharply. In retaliation, his teeth bite down on Richie’s bottom lip. He knows that Eddie can’t help his raw reaction, and he loves that he trusts him enough to let go. More and more, Eddie reveals a side of himself that Richie feels lucky to see – uninhibited, unguarded, and completely unafraid to let Richie in. 

He’d thought they were close before – they were best friends, after all, more than all the other Losers. But knowing Eddie this intimately brings them to another level entirely. Maybe it’s impossible not to, considering the circumstances, but Richie still finds himself amazed that he gets to see Eddie’s fears, his wants and his dreams and all stupid thoughts that rattle around his brain. Richie loves every single one, even before Eddie confessed that he was afraid Richie would laugh at him. He knows now that he never would laugh at him for that, not when he’s being vulnerable and sincere. 

Sometimes, he thinks Eddie has no clue just how much of Richie’s heart he holds in his hands, how easily he controls him with nothing more than a single syllable. He’s loved him for three summers by now, and he’ll love him for them all. Pretty much as long as Eddie allows.

Richie really, really hopes that’s forever. 

They kiss and Richie relinquishes control a bit, losing himself to sensation long enough that their make-out turns sloppy. Eddie ends up abandoning his mouth entirely, moving towards his jaw to suck a hickey on the place behind his ear that drives Richie fucking insane. Yet another place he likes to stake his claim. Richie lets out a choked moan when Eddie bites down into an already tender, barely-healed hickey from earlier this week. The pain sparks behind his eyes like a solar flare, but Eddie soothes it with his tongue, oddly gentle and sweet. He keeps this up for a while until Richie is panting beneath him, feeling like he might explode at any second.

A vision of Eddie on his back, whining, tears at the corner of his eyes floats to the forefront of Richie’s mind, and it’s then that he remembers he’s supposed to be in control. This is Eddie’s gift after all. He can’t sit here having all the fun. 

Without warning, Richie moves his hands from Eddie’s waist to his wrists. He uses his strength to flip them over, wrestling Eddie until he’s beneath him on the bed and pinned between his knees. Eddie stares up at Richie, looking hungry, and it’s all Richie can do not to devour him on the spot. He needs to wreck him. And he can see in Eddie’s eyes how badly he needs it, too. 

“I thought you were on the nice list,” he says, voice hoarse. “But you’re being such a naughty boy tonight, Eddie.” 

Richie watches Eddie’s pupils dilate, the black widening until it nearly swallows up the ring of brown iris. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Richie doesn’t think he sounds very sorry at all. He hums, quiet and disappointed. “Santa doesn’t normally give out presents to kids on the naughty list.”

Eddie wriggles beneath him, impatient. “What does Santa do for naughty boys then?” he questions. Richie fights the urge to groan when he hears how Eddie’s voice breaks on the word naughty, his tone breathy and light. 

Even if Richie couldn’t already see how turned on Eddie is now, his cheeks flushed red and mouth open, soft breaths exhaled in the space between them, he would feel it. Eddie’s waist moves of its own volition, thrusting into the open space near Richie’s dick. If Richie wanted, he could scoot forward and offer him firm pressure, something to thrust against. He could be generous. 

But he’s not feeling very generous right now, and he’s got his own vision of how this night will go. Eddie is going to have to work a lot harder to earn the white Christmas Richie has planned. 

Rather than soothe his apparent desire, Richie leans back and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, pitying. “Look at you. So hard,” he comments, ignoring Eddie’s question entirely. He switches Eddie’s wrists to one hand easily and drops the other to trace the bulge of his dick through the shorts, smirking when Eddie shudders at the featherlight touch. “So desperate. Good boys don’t act like sluts.” 

He moves his hand again and presses it fully onto his dick, using enough force to still Eddie’s hips entirely. He cries out at the contact, pleased, but his relief quickly shifts to agonized whimpers when he realizes that Richie isn’t going to do anything further. 

“Rich,” he pants out, pleading. 

Richie’s dick throbs but he forces himself to stay focused. “You want to come tonight, don’t you?”

Eddie nods, feverishly. His mouth falls open, and Richie can’t help but move his free hand to his cheek, letting his thumb slip inside. Obediently, Eddie closes his mouth around it and sucks, hard, tongue lapping at the pad of Richie’s thumb. Richie nearly coos at the sight but bites it back, trying to keep himself in the right headspace. It’s not nearly often enough that he gets to take charge like this – there’s usually a push and pull between them, some natural give and take. Tonight will break their boundaries in several ways.

“Then you’ve got to be a good boy,” Richie tells him, decisively. He removes his thumb from Eddie’s mouth and reaches around the back of his head, tightly threading his fingers through Eddie’s curls and tugging. Eddie tries to squirm beneath him, visibly overwhelmed. Richie presses down hard on his dick again, this time with his thigh, effectively stilling him.

Eddie whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as he shudders again. When they spring back open, his eyes seem watery. “How do I do that?” Eddie pants, gazing up at Richie with unbridled want so tangible that it almost makes his heart ache.

“You’ve got to be quiet as a mouse,” Richie murmurs, leaning in until their faces are close. He presses his lips into Eddie’s temple, feeling more than seeing the way Eddie squeezes his eyes shut again. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?” 

Eddie’s chest stutters to a halt like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Richie leans back, pulling Eddie’s head back as he goes, and grins wide with a Chesire-cat smile. “Maybe you’d like that. You really are a naughty boy, aren’t you, Eds…”

“I-I wouldn’t,” Eddie stutters, weak and uncertain. “I can be quiet.”

Richie moves his lips further down Eddie’s body, tugging aside the collar of his shirt to sink his teeth into the skin. Every mark on Eddie has to be hidden, tucked away until the day they’re safely out of Derry and far away from his mother. But Richie doesn’t want to think about that right now. He bites his way across his clavicle, taking his time nipping at his collarbone until Eddie is quivering beneath him, each mark soothed with a careless flick of his tongue.

Eventually, he pulls back to survey Eddie, even more dazed than before below him. It’s incredible, really, how sensitive he is to Richie’s touch. How badly he wants to feel dirty and used, and how desperately he needs it. It’s enough to make any boy go insane. 

Richie untangles his hand from Eddie’s hair, already missing the silk of his curls against his skin. “You’ve gotta be quieter than that,” he tells him, picking up their conversation as if no time has passed. Eddie’s eyes blink rapidly, trying to focus. Richie waits patiently until he seems at least semi-cognizant of his words. “And you have to be real still, Eddie baby. Santa’s going to take his sweet time tonight, you know. I put lots of special thought into your gift.”  

“I can do it, I promise, I can,” Eddie pleads, babbling. 

“I don’t think you can,” Richie tells him. Eddie whines, and Richie feels his hips buck up on their own accord, pushing his dick into Richie’s thigh. It’s all Richie can do not to grab hold of him right there and tug off those fucking shorts. He could have him seeing stars in seconds. 

But he needs his self-restraint tonight.Tonight is about Eddie, about turning this into a night he’ll never forget. Still, he can’t keep himself from cupping Eddie through the shorts, just to tease him. He can feel the weight of him in his hand, so small. “I’ll make you a deal, okay?”

Eddie is nodding before he’s even finished speaking, and Richie has to fight a smile. “If you’re a good boy, then you’ll get good presents. But if you’re a naughty boy…” Richie drags his eyes down Eddie’s body, all the way to where his dick strains against his shorts. When he glances back up, he’s pleased to discover that Eddie is watching Richie’s every move, mouth open and lips shining with spit. “Well, I’ll have to teach you how to be good again, sweetheart.” 

Eddie’s hips jerk again. Richie watches as a full-bodied shiver spreads across his body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Do you like that?” Richie comments, tilting his head with a smirk. “You want to be a good boy, don’t you, Eds?”

He nods with a soft moan, and that’s enough of a cue for Richie to move on to the next phase of his plan. In one fluid movement, he uses the hand still holding Eddie’s wrists and pushes them away from his body and up against the cold metal of his headboard. It’s enough force that the moment Eddie’s arms hit the metal, he lets out a sharp cry, eyes flying shut.

Richie shushes him instantly. “Careful, Eddie, baby. You don’t want someone to hear, do you? What would you do if someone came in here and saw you like this? Trapped beneath me, hands pressed up against the bed like a whore. Anyone could see how much you enjoy this.”

Eddie shakes beneath his grip, unable to stop trembling. Richie can feel his pulse fluttering so quickly against Richie’s thumb that if he wasn’t already aware Eddie’s asthma wasn’t real, he’d be worried.

“Rich,” Eddie breathes, the single syllable so quiet it might as well be nothing but a gust of wind. Richie rewards him for that with kisses to his wrist, down his arm and all the way to his chest, where he sinks his teeth in again. “Richie!” he keens, turning his head to the side to expose his neck. 

“You like that, baby?” Richie asks. “You’re being so good… maybe you don’t need any lessons.”

“No,” Eddie murmurs, and he struggles against Richie’s grip a bit, fingers flexing. He knows that Eddie wants to touch – it’s his favorite part of sex, the way he can reach out and grab at Richie, tug him where he wants, always bossy no matter what the scenario. But Richie knows that’s not what he needs tonight.

“Uh-uh,” he warns. Eddie struggles against him and he laughs, a low rumble in his chest. “You’re going to have to be a lot more still than that.” Richie sighs, staring disapprovingly down at Eddie. “God, you’re just so desperate, aren’t you? What am I supposed to do with you?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. Richie knows exactly what he wants to do with him, and Eddie knows it, too. Still, he continues struggling against Richie’s grip. He shifts forward to pin down Eddie’s waist, and as the belt of his costume digs into his dick that a lightbulb goes off in his mind. Not exactly part of the original plan, but Richie is pretty sure it won’t go unappreciated. 

“I’m going to let go of you,” he says, “but you better keep your hands right here.” He pushes Eddie’s arms into the headboard again, just hard enough that the flesh turns white under the pressure. “Be a good boy for a second, okay?” Richie holds his wrists there a moment longer before letting go. Immediately, his hands fly to his pants and undoes the belt there, tugging the strap away from the buckle. He never once takes his eyes off Eddie, whose arms are already quivering from the effort of staying above his head. He bites on his lip though, eyes determined, before squeezing them shut as if his willpower alone will keep them right where Richie ordered.

Eventually, Richie gets the belt loose enough that he can take it off his body and immediately scoots closer to Eddie’s. “Tell me if this hurts,” he murmurs, dropping his act for a moment to make sure that Eddie is okay. “Just cry ‘elf’ and I’ll know you need a break. I won’t even think you’re talking about yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie mutters, grumpy as shit. God, Richie loves him. 

He suppresses a giggle and resumes his idea, intent on keeping Eddie exactly where he wants him and his hands out of the equation entirely. Carefully, Richie loops the belt through the metal rungs of the headboard to make sure there’s a strong grip keeping Eddie’s arms above his head. Once he feels certain Eddie won’t be able to move from there, he pulls the straps tighter and tighter until he can see just the barest hint of Eddie’s flesh turning white, on the cusp of nearly too much pressure. He secures the belt through the buckle and leans back on his heels and as far away from Eddie as he can bear. 

Richie watches Eddie struggle against the restraint, testing its strength. He looks frustrated on the surface, but there’s this dazed look in his eyes that tells a different story entirely. See, Richie’s had a suspicion all along that Eddie has been craving something just like this. Eddie always looks a little more turned on whenever Richie manhandles him during sex, gasping whenever Richie pins him up on some surface with nowhere else to go. But this is the first opportunity he’s had to really test his theory, and he’s glad it seems he guessed right.

“You know, all tied up like that in those pretty red shorts… well, gee, Eds. It’s almost like you’re a present waiting to be unwrapped. Maybe we should undress you even more.”

Eddie moans a little at that, and… well, Richie doesn’t have to be told twice. 

He leans forward and slowly, tantalizingly, begins unbuttoning Eddie’s pajama top. He can feel Eddie’s chest hitch beneath his touch, his body already trembling. He’s so sensitive yet resilient, far from delicate, and still Richie finds himself trying to ease Eddie into this night. He doesn’t want to go further than he can stand, and he definitely doesn’t want to hurt him in case he’s got the impression Eddie likes something that he actually doesn’t. 

Richie unbuttons his shirt leisurely. He lets his fingers brush against the skin, pausing to press bruises old and new peppered across his skin like footprints in the snow. His handiwork adorns Eddie’s collarbones like a necklace. Richie leans forward to kiss the bruises, surprisingly tender, and Eddie exhales soft, punched-out breaths at each press of his lips.

After an agonizingly slow moment for them both, Richie frees the last button from the fabric and leans away, pulling Eddie’s shirt down his shoulders as far as possible. Beneath him, Eddie’s chest gleams in the dim light, a canvas of tan skin and purple-blue marks. Richie brushes a hand down his torso, teasing his nipples, and follows the trail of moles down the expanse of his stomach and over the bumps of his ribcage. Eddie tugs against the belt as he goes, straining to follow his touch, but he doesn’t get very far.

His hands come to a pause on Eddie’s hips, resting just above his love handles. “Look at you, Eds,” he marvels, genuinely blown away. Eddie looks like a goddamn fantasy, splayed out for him to take. “All tied up for me. You want to get touched this badly? You’re pathetic.” 

Richie doesn’t really mean it, but he thinks that’s what Eddie wants to hear. He keens in reply, emitting a sound Richie has never heard before. He wants to hear it again, and again, and a thousand more times until he can play the sounds of his pleasure like a lullaby in his mind. Eddie thrusts upwards, but all he manages to do is get his dick in contact with Richie’s, and that makes him aware of something even more important. 

“Eddie, those fucking shorts…” he murmurs. He drops to his stomach and moves closer with only one thought in mind. He crawls forward until his face is level with the prominent tent at Eddie’s lap. He nudges it gently with his face, pressing into his bulge. Immediately, he can smell the musk he associates with Eddie, but there’s something sharp, too, salty enough that his mouth waters. His tongue darts out, chasing it, and he realizes that Eddie is fucking soaking his shorts with pre-cum. 

“Shit,” he hisses, desperately trying not to touch himself. The thought of Eddie being this turned on already makes him nearly delirious with desire, and he has to lean back and force himself to breathe before he can continue. 

Eddie watches him as he does so, his eyes a near-bottomless pool of black, and it’s all Richie can do not to fuck him into the mattress like this and leave him gasping for more. But he hasn’t even scratched the surface of how this night should go. He wants to drag this out, make this pleasurable for Eddie, drain every thought and anxiety from his mind until there’s incoherent nonsense babbling off his tongue. 

He takes one last breath to strengthen his resolve before diving back down to Eddie’s dick. This time, he opens his jaw and mouths at Eddie’s bulge, mixing his own spit with Eddie’s pre-cum until the damp spot on his shorts becomes a fucking pool. It has to be uncomfortable, he thinks, but Eddie just pants and squirms beneath him, obviously pleased. Richie could make him be still, but he lets Eddie get away with his impatience for now, too pleased to watch him lost to the sensations of Richie’s mouth on him, insistent.

Eddie’s hands flex helplessly above his head. Richie knows how badly he must want to touch. He would guide Richie’s head if he could and push his mouth exactly where he wanted it, digging his nails into the back of his neck and leaving his mark. Any other night, Richie would want that, too. 

But not tonight.

He feels Eddie growing bigger, thickening fully until the tent in his shorts pulls his waistband far enough away that Richie can see where the soft pudge of his stomach shifts to the cut of his hips, smooth skin giving way to bones. As a reward, Richie scrapes his teeth against the underside of Eddie’s clothed dick, and Eddie whines loudly, hips bucking as if he could choke Richie like this. Absently, he considers how he’ll punish Eddie for his disobedience later. 

His hands slide from his waist to Eddie’s thighs, squeezing tight, alternating pulses alongside the scrape of his teeth. He feels more than sees the way Eddie trembles beneath him – the strain of his muscles, the shake of his every breath, and the smell of sweat mixing with the salty musk. From there, his hands smooth further down until he’s past the hemline of Eddie’s shorts. It would probably be a tight squeeze to get his hands up Eddie’s shorts if he weren’t already so spectacularly turned on. His erection puts enough room between the fabric and his skin that Richie can slip inside with ease. 

Richie’s hands brush across warm, smooth skin, and it’s only after a few seconds that he realizes he hasn’t hit another barrier on his way to his dick. “Eddie,” he murmurs, half-delirious by the flash of desire that makes a beeline for his dick. “Are you… where the fuck are your underwear?”

“Don’t need them,” Eddie mumbles, quiet, sounding almost ashamed.

“You don’t need them? What, do you just want everyone to see how turned on you are? Is that it? You want to feel like you’re on display, want everyone to see your cute little cock, your tight ass, these fucking thighs…”

Eddie lets out a tiny moan. Richie’s hands travel back down his legs, caressing the curve of his thighs, before reentering his shorts and moving closer to cup his ass. “Everyone can see you. How badly you want it. You’re practically gagging for someone to do what I’m doing to you right now all the fucking time.” 

His hands drift across Eddie’s lower half, lazily, hungrily, because he can’t truly decide what he wants to play with first. His index finger traces the seam of Eddie’s balls and then the base of his dick, trailing up the curve where it’s still bunched in his shorts. His other hand slides further back, lingering at his perineum and pressing in a way that makes Eddie curse. 

Finally, he pushes back further to his hole with a single finger. He expects resistance, so when his index finger slips easily inside, Richie pauses his exploration to prop his chin up on Eddie’s dick as if it’s nothing but a place to rest his head. “You have been naughty,” Richie states. 

Eddie shakes his head quickly, a blush sitting high on the apples of his cheeks. Richie looks lower to Eddie’s chest where a flush blooms, spreading across his shoulders. “No, I haven’t, I’ve been a good boy,” he promises, voice shaking.

Richie has to bite back a moan hearing Eddie call himself that. They hadn’t ever discussed this – what names Eddie liked, how he’d want to be treated in this kind of scenario. Richie knew Eddie liked baby all the time, and sweetheart most of the time, but good boy was new. Still, the way his voice trembled as he said it, like he craved the validation as much as he craved the punishment that would come if he didn’t obey… it made him feel powerful and insane. Knowing he had Eddie’s trust so wholly… god, Richie wanted to fuck him so hard that neither one of them could so much as breathe for the next week straight without feeling an ache to remind them of what they’d done. 

“Good boys don’t finger themselves,” Richie asserts. “Good boys don’t push their hips into people’s faces. Good boys,” he continues, roughly pressing another finger inside of Eddie without warning and hiding his smirk when he yelps. “Don’t disobey their orders.”

“I didn’t disobey, I swear,” Eddie babbles, frantic. “I didn’t know you were coming. I just wanted to feel good, I swear, I didn’t mean to, Richie, please.”

Richie’s stomach clenches as Eddie begs. “You still were disobeying me just minutes ago,” he says, using his fingers to thrust forcefully and then pull them out just as fast. Eddie whimpers at the loss, screwing his eyes shut. “I told you to stay still but you just couldn’t help it. Rubbing yourself in my face, trying to force yourself wherever you wanted. That’s not what we agreed on.”

Richie thrusts again, curling his fingers, and feels the way he bumps up against the smooth ridge of Eddie’s prostate. He doesn’t want to do anything but make it known that he knows exactly where it is, so he doesn’t linger, and again he pulls his fingers out without any warning. This time, Eddie’s breath stutters and he nearly sobs, turning his face into the pillow.

“No hiding,” Richie commands, reaching up to turn Eddie’s head back to face him. His eyes glitter with unshed tears, and Richie swallows against the wave of uncertainty at the sight of causing him any pain. “You want my fingers, don’t you?”

Eddie’s nod is small but distinct. He bites his lip and meets Richie’s eyes, wordless communication exchanged between them. Eddie nods again, eyes a bit clearer, certain. 

Richie feels his own fears subside, and he slips back into the persona. “Or do you want my mouth?” he asks, blowing a cool gust of air against Eddie’s dick. 

Eddie’s hips nearly snap forward but he catches himself in time. Richie watches the muscles of his stomach clench, tightening, and decides to reward him for his good behavior. He takes mercy on Eddie and frees his cock from the damp front of his shorts, peeling the waistband down until it springs free. It bounces slightly, smacking against his stomach, before standing fully on its own.

Eddie’s dick looks so cute like this, begging for attention. It’s an average size, maybe a little small, but it’s not particularly thin or anything. The head, normally a flushed pink, looks red and angry already. It glistens in the light, pre-cum dripping down the shaft. As Richie stares at it, another droplet bubbles out the slit and he finds himself dipping forward to taste it, savoring the bitter salt on his tongue. He uses one hand to wrap around his dick, covering it completely, and pumps the shaft while he swirls his tongue into Eddie’s slit, lapping up every drop. 

“Rich–!” Eddie whimpers, and Richie hears the belt buckle rattle violently against the headboard.

Richie pulls back with an audible pop and gives Eddie with a disapproving stare. “If you’re going to misbehave, then I’m not going to put my mouth on you. Do you want that? Should I leave you here, tied up and hard?”

Eddie’s bottom lip wobbles like he’s going to cry. “N-no,” he sniffles, keeping his eyes on Richie even as his skin flushes a mottled red. “I w-want your mouth.”

“Using your words, aren’t you, baby? That’s so good,” he coos. His breath must be a tease against Eddie’s exposed cock, but he doesn’t so much as shiver, exhibiting willpower that Richie always knew he had. “What else do you want from me? If you’re good, then maybe I’ll listen.”

Eddie’s eyes spark at that and he stills completely save for his mouth. What falls out is pure filth, and Richie isn’t sure he’s ever heard Eddie say so many dirty words with a straight face or without insult in his entire life. “I want your mouth on my dick,” he begs. “I want you to swallow me whole, I want your mouth on my balls, I want your teeth on me and I want you to blow me so hard I can’t think. I want you to let me fuck your mouth, please, I want to try, I know I’m not big like you but I want, I want to, I want…”

Halfway through speaking, Eddie starts to truly sob, his chest heaving and tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. Richie aches to brush them away but Eddie is staring at him with bright eyes, a fevered hunger even as he’s falling apart beneath his hands. Instead, he starts to pump Eddie with one hand, using his other to play with his smooth balls, kneading them between his fingers like a toy. “You’re already so wet,” Richie says. “Look at your little cock dribbling. I bet I could make you hit the back of my throat, sweetheart. It might be hard, but your pretty little dick can get the job done, can’t it?” 

“I can!” he states quickly, voice cracking. “I can, please, let me try, please, I want to fuck your mouth, please…”

“But what do I get out of it?” Richie muses, teasing. He thumbs at Eddie’s slit, pressing two fingers on each side of his head, watching as another spurt of cum oozes out. He uses it as lube and slides it down Eddie’s dick, his own throbbing as Eddie groans at the sensation. “Your dick is pretty appealing, it’s true, but that’ll make you happy. What’s gonna make me happy?” Richie cuts his eyes away from Eddie’s dick back to his face. “What would a good boy offer me?”

It’s a test. They both know it, and Eddie’s face screws up in determination, brow pinched as he thinks. “What do you want?”

Richie hums, considering. “I want everything, Eds,” he murmurs, and it’s a deeper truth than he means to confess. Because he really does want everything. There’s a future out there somewhere where Eddie stuck with him forever, where they christen shitty apartments and a forever home with as much mind-blowing sex, laughter, and love. “But tonight… I want your tight little ass,” he decides. “I want to finger you until you cry. I want to eat you out. I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk for the next month, and I want you on your knees for me, taking it so good, with zero complaint.”

Eddie lets out a choked noise caught between a whimper or moan. “I want you to crush me,” he breathes, almost entirely unbidden. “I want you on top of me. I need you to press me down until I can’t breathe, until you cover me completely. I want you to split me in half, Richie, please. ”

“Oh, you’d like that?” Richie asks, feigning ignorance. “Does it turn you on how big I am? How my hand can just go like this…” He curls a single hand around Eddie’s cock and squeezes, covering it completely until all that peeks out is the tip. He could cover that if he wanted to, his hand big enough to wrap around Eddie comfortably. 

Eddie stares down at his, mouth hanging open and looking dazed. “Richie…” he breathes, voice shaking. 

Richie only laughs. “Look at you. You can’t even see your little dick in my hand. Such a good boy, I’m going to–”

He doesn’t have a chance to finish that sentence. Eddie seizes up beneath him and comes with a shout, his back arching as he jerks up away from his restraints as far as possible. His cum shoots directly into Richie’s face, coating the lenses of his glasses and hitting his chin in spurts. 

Richie blinks in surprise behind his glasses, unsure which part set him off. Eddie looks a bit mortified by the entire thing, averting his eyes the moment Richie finally moves again to brush away the stickiness on his chin. “Eddie,” he murmurs, distantly shocked. “Eddie,” he repeats, more urgently, when he still won’t look at him.

Finally, Eddie reluctantly drags his gaze to Richie, looking… almost nervous. Richie realizes that maybe they’re still in the middle of this dynamic he’s created, but he can’t help his honest reaction – surprised by how quickly Eddie came, sure, but he’s pleased, too, that he had that power. 

Slowly, Richie lifts his fingers to his mouth and makes a show of licking up Eddie’s cum, slurping his own fingers clean. Eddie’s cheeks burn bright red as he does, but he can’t tear his eyes away, gnawing at his own bottom lip with a watchful expression. 

“That was so fucking hot,” Richie grits out. “Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Seeing how big I was and how little you were, your cock just leaking all over me?” Richie huffs out a laugh as he takes off his glasses, wiping the lenses on the suit. Thank god he decided to buy one instead of rent. “You taste good, too.”

Eddie whines, eyes never leaving Richie’s, and strains against his restraints again. Richie chuckles at his effort and reaches out to play with his cock, slightly soft but rapidly getting hard again in his hand. “You’re such a slut,” he comments. “Already came once and you’re ready to go again, just like that. I’ll make it worth your while, baby. Do you want my fingers inside your little hole next? Bet you want to feel stretched open, don’t you, Eds?” 

“Yes, fuck, yes, ” he murmurs, eyes still locked on Richie’s hand swallowing his cock. “You’re so big, Richie. I love it when you fuck me, I need it.”

“I will,” he promises. “I’ll fuck you so hard that when you come again, you’ll see stars. And I’ll fuck you after that, too, until you’re about to break in half from my dick. Until there’s nothing else you can feel but me, pounding into your tight little hole over and over again until you’re just gaping wide open like the fucking whore that you are.”

Eddie wails, and it’s so loud that Richie reaches out and stuffs his fingers into his mouth to quiet him. But Eddie takes that as an invitation, licking his tongue over them, getting each digit soaking wet. “Oh,” he murmurs, gasping a little. “You want my fingers in you, baby? Maybe we can have it both ways. I’ll suck your pretty little cock off, and then you can let me finger you until I can put my mouth where I want it. Be good and I’ll make it worth your while, okay?”

Eddie moans around his fingers. Richie curls them behind his teeth, practicing, and Eddie moans around that, too, mouth stuffed and drooling. 

When he pulls his fingers out, Eddie’s mouth is still there, gaping open and so fucking wet. Quickly, he reconsiders his plans. Before Eddie can so much as catch his breath, Richie is crawling forward on his knees, moving closer until he can push on his kneecaps and raise to his full height. With Eddie tied to the bedpost like this, still upright, it doesn’t take any effort to level Richie’s dick directly in front of his face. 

Richie sighs and takes hold of his own dick for the first time, feeling it through his pants. Somehow, he’s still wearing his clothes, a clear sign that he’s taken this gift to heart and put all his attention on Eddie. But after Eddie’s little oral fixation, he thinks that maybe he needs to do something for himself tonight. Something that Eddie is going to love just as much as him.

“Before that,” Richie tells him, loving the way Eddie has to look up at him from this angle, “I think I need to teach you how to fuck my mouth. You could use some pointers, couldn’t you? If you want to hit the back of my throat, you need to know what it feels like.” 

Eddie doesn’t say a word, but his mouth falls open further, inviting, and Richie can see the way he flattens his tongue like he’s waiting for a taste. Begging for it, even. There’s still spit gathered at the corner of his mouth and Richie imagines how good it will feel on his dick, so stiff that a light breeze could probably make him come. He doesn’t hesitate to push down the waistband of his pants and his boxer-briefs, shimmying out of both and throwing them somewhere in Eddie’s room in the opposite direction of that candle. Eddie would kill him if he caught the bedroom on fire. 

His dick springs out and juts forward, the tip of it smacking Eddie’s chin. Eddie whines at that, turning his face to chase it. He reaches out with one hand to grip the headboard next to where Eddie’s hands are tied to hold himself still and keeps the other on his dick, forming a loose circle at the base. 

Eddie doesn’t waste any time, quickly leaning forward to taste. His tongue dips into the slit before kitten-licking around the head, and Richie stutters out a sharp gasp, his stomach clenching. His hips thrust forward involuntarily. He’d usually stop himself before he hurt Eddie, but tonight, he lets it happen and watches his dick slip across the open entrance of Eddie’s mouth, scraping across his teeth. Eddie groans in excitement, eagerly swallowing what he’s giving and then hollowing his lips to suck hard. 

Richie groans, pulling back slightly, but the wet warmth of Eddie’s mouth is an invitation he can’t refuse and he finds himself thrusting in again, shallowly. “This won't take long,” he promises, half-convincing himself. “I’m just going to teach you a lesson. Try not to choke.”

With that, he cants his hips into Eddie’s mouth, immediately hitting the back of his throat. Eddie gurgles around his dick in surprise, eyes bugging out for a second before they slide shut. Richie pauses there to take in the sensation of Eddie’s tongue on the underside of his dick. Eddie’s mouth barely covers a third of it and it still feels incredible. Richie thrusts shallowly for a second, encouraged by Eddie’s moans, before reaching down and grabbing him by the throat, using his thumb and index fingers to tip his head backwards. 

He thrusts again, and this time his dick slips further down the tight muscles of his throat. Eddie swallows around him, adjusting, and Richie feels it all the way down to his spine. “Fuck,” he curses, thrusting harder, forcing his dick further inside with each inch. His hand wanders down his throat where he can feel himself moving in Eddie, each shallow thrust like a heartbeat pulsing through his neck while his throat works to fight off the intrusion. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Richie moans. Eddie groans in agreement around his dick and Richie shudders, flayed raw. “You feel how I’m hitting your throat? I know you can do that, Eddie baby. Your little dick might not go this far, but you can make me feel it like this. I’ll swallow it whole… let you fill up my mouth however you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie whimpers, tears leaking and drool pouring from the corners of his mouth. His tongue works religiously against Richie’s shaft, trying his best to reach every inch. It’s still not enough; Richie is too big, and Eddie can’t use his hands to finish the job like normal. 

Richie’s not looking to finish right now anyway. He doesn’t want to come until he’s buried to the hilt inside Eddie, and so he thrusts one last time before pulling back, returning his hand to the base of his cock to stave off coming too soon. 

“Just a taste,” he says, breathless. “This isn’t the main attraction, baby. This is only the beginning. And you were so good.”

Eddie preens under the praise, squirming restlessly now that he’s allowed. “Want you to blow me. Can you? Please, pretty please,” he begs, chest heaving.

Who is Richie to deny a plea that sounds so sweet? He takes his time catching his breath and settles back onto his stomach near the foot of the bed. He hovers near Eddie’s crotch to pepper his thighs with feather-light kisses, occasionally giving Eddie tiny bites that turn into bruising hickeys. Once he’s run out of flesh to bite, Richie pushes Eddie’s legs up and then apart, squeezing his thighs while he gets close to Eddie’s dick once again. “Ready, Eddie?”

Eddie takes a deep breath and nods. The flush has spread past his neck now, coloring the tips of his ears and the top of his chest. There are tear stains on his cheeks, and still he looks hungry for more. Desperate for it. 

Richie has to steady his own breathing when he recognizes that unbridled want in Eddie, all that fearless determination. Richie loves him. He loves how insane he is, loves that he wants so deeply, that he needs to be wrecked as badly as Richie wants to wreck him. An endless loop, really, ouroboros eating itself forever. They couldn’t be more perfectly paired. Eddie, this feral little gremlin, the only person he’s ever loved and his probable soulmate. Eddie, who makes him laugh and keeps him from crying, who curses him out in the same breath he’d tell Richie that he loves him. 

“Go on then,” Richie orders. He helps Eddie get onto his knees, tucking his legs beneath him for support. “Fuck your way into my mouth, sweetheart. Let me give you the blowjob of your life.”

Eddie looks like he wants to tell Richie to shut the fuck up, but with his hands tied behind him like this they both know that’ll only get him in trouble. Instead, he lets Richie line up his cock with his mouth and then thrusts inside with everything he’s got, hitting the roof of Richie’s mouth. Richie groans in equal parts pleasure and pain, readjusting so that Eddie’s dick will go towards his throat on his next thrust. Before he can, though, Richie grabs hold of Eddie’s waist to still his hips and starts to work his cock with his mouth, bobbing his head and swallowing around him with practiced ease. 

He works his tongue into Eddie’s slit, pleased when he hears him groan, and uses his teeth to scrape down the shaft in the way he knows Eddie likes best. He bobs shallowly, subtly mocking Eddie for having so little for Richie to go down on, letting his tongue caress each ridge while his teeth drag across skin. He pulls back and spends time focusing only on the head, lapping at the smooth skin here and sucking hard until Eddie cries out. Occasionally, he goes lower down the shaft, mouthing at Eddie’s balls and sucking them into his mouth, tongue roving across the smooth surface. This always makes Eddie whine, and tonight is no exception. But he’s already sensitive from coming earlier, and every touch makes him whimper or shake even as his dick fattens up again in Richie’s mouth. 

He repeats this process for a while, teasing and slow, while Eddie gets hard again. He enjoys hearing how Eddie’s breathing gets heavier until he’s panting above Richie. The only other sound in the room aside from the slick sound of Richie’s mouth around his dick the rattling of the belt buckle against the headboard, further proof of how much Eddie wants to reach out and touch. 

Eventually, Richie eases back to glance up at him. He’s pleased to see Eddie’s flush is even redder, eyes trained on Richie’s mouth and little else. His hands twitch reflexively, and Richie knows him well enough to know that he wants to reach out and trace Richie’s lips. He’d drag a finger through the pre-cum and spit on Richie’s bottom lip if he could, tasting it with a moan.

As if he can read Richie’s thoughts, Eddie whimpers, eyes still locked on Richie’s lips. “You wanna fuck me now?” Richie asks, and he’s pleased at how quickly Eddie nods, his impatience rearing its head. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll open my mouth up for you. You just keep being good, okay?”

He positions himself at the head of Eddie’s cock again and opens up wide, moving forward with his tongue wrapped around the underside until Eddie is seated comfortably inside. He closes his mouth and hums around Eddie’s dick, then giggles when Eddie groans and spasms in his mouth at the sensations. He could talk around his dick if he wanted, but he settles instead for using Eddie’s distraction to press his finger into Eddie’s hole, still faintly surprised by the lack of resistance. 

Richie hums, ready for his worst, and Eddie immediately takes his cue. Almost frantic, he starts thrusting into Richie’s mouth, each movement sloppy. Every time he moves his hips backwards, Richie shoves his finger further inside, scraping at Eddie’s walls.

Eddie groans again and turns his head towards his arm to bite at the fabric, desperately trying to muffle the sound. Richie couldn’t find that hotter if he tried, so he rewards Eddie with an equally sloppy movement from his tongue and inserts a second finger into Eddie’s hole. That causes Eddie to spasm so violently that he hits the back of Richie’s throat with his dick by sheer force alone.

Richie moans and pulls Eddie closer, all the while fucking Eddie in earnest with two curled fingers as his throat get wrecked by Eddie’s cock. It might not be particularly large, but it’s heavy on his tongue and salty in his mouth, making him drool. He can feel his own cum leaking, too. Eddie isn’t the only one with an oral fixation. He might not be big but Richie chokes around him anyway, gagging each time the tip of Eddie’s dick manages to slip down his throat.

Eddie loves that if his whine is any clue. “Richie, fuck,” he groans, still trying to muffle his cries in the fabric of his sleeve. “You feel so good, holy shit. I can’t…”

Richie doesn’t care what Eddie thinks he can’t do. Tears leak out the corner of his eyes from the stretch in his throat, but it doesn’t keep him from adding a third finger to the stretch in Eddie’s hole. He starts to fuck into him even harder, curling his fingers and searching until… almost…

Eddie lets out a sharp scream, body thrusting forward of its own accord, and he comes down Richie’s throat without warning. His hot, bitter cum hits the back of Richie’s throat and he gags, no choice but to swallow it down. Eddie’s cock is still trapped there, and each time Richie swallows around it, he lets out a soft cry and sends a fresh spurt dribbling down his throat. Richie takes it gladly, milking him dry and still fucking him through it all with an uneven rhythm. It’s not until Eddie whimpers out something that sounds like his name that he pushes away, easing Eddie’s sensitive cock out of his mouth with a quiet pop. They both let out soft moans at the sound. Richie pants for a moment, regaining the ability to breathe, before pushing Eddie on his back and stretching his legs apart with his one free hand. 

“My turn,” he commands, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

That’s all the warning Eddie gets before Richie drags Eddie closer to his mouth, shoving his tongue in alongside his fingers. Eddie might still be sore and sensitive, but Richie is pretty confident he can get a third orgasm out of him before the night is over. He hasn’t even fucked him yet; there’s no way they end things here, only a couple blowjobs and some assplay between them. 

Richie gets to work immediately prepping him, using his saliva and the last of Eddie’s cum in his mouth as lube. He tongues Eddie like a man dying of thirst, like Eddie’s hole is the first sight of water he’s seen in days, easily pushing through the muscle and eliminating whatever resistance is left. Honestly, Richie should thank Eddie for unknowingly prepping himself earlier. He’d saved Richie a lot of work, leaving plenty of time for him to bask in the singular goal of pleasuring him the way he deserved.

Highly sensitive, Eddie takes it all but can’t keep himself from letting out kitten mewls and whimpers, his entire body shaking. Even if he hadn’t already come twice, he’d be this sensitive about getting eaten out. It must be like touching a raw nerve right now, after he’s been pushed to limits they’ve never tried before. Eddie is already utterly spent, probably only minutes from truly sobbing. 

Richie’s dick jumps against his leg at the very thought. Good. He wants Eddie to cry, wants him begging, shaking, trembling until he has no choice but snap. He wants Eddie to succumb to the sensations, a slave to Richie’s hands and mouth and dick, chasing a high that no one else can give him. 

He increases his pace, rapidly fucking in and out of Eddie with his tongue, licking anywhere he can. His fingers continue to probe at Eddie’s prostate at the same time with alternating pressure, keeping Eddie on edge. He squirms beneath his touch, crying out with each brush against his prostate – a whimper here, a sob there – until there’s an entire symphony supported by the sound of Eddie’s cries. The melody sounds so much sweeter than any of Richie’s favorite songs. 

“Richie,” Eddie wails. His entire body is trembling, pulled taut like a violin’s bow. Richie could make him snap if he fucking wanted to, right here and now. “Rich, please, I can’t.”

This time, Richie reluctantly removes his tongue from Eddie’s ass, putting a fourth finger inside to make up for the difference. He glances at Eddie’s dick and is pleased to find it standing again, fully erect and flushed red. Pre-cum gleams at his tip, dribbling down his shaft, and it’s a wonder to Richie that there’s anything left in Eddie at all. 

Eddie whimpers at the inclusion of another finger, and Richie feels his hole flutter greedily around his digits, sucking him further in. “What a slut,” he mutters, more to himself than Eddie, but Eddie moans weakly at the phrase regardless. 

“You can’t take more? Or you won’t?” Richie asks. Eddie doesn’t answer, too busy whimpering. “Use your words, Eddie,” Richie warns. 

“C-c-can’t,” Eddie forces out, still shaking from head to toe. “I w-want to come with you inside me.”

“Is that right?” Richie curls all four fingers and thrusts extra hard into Eddie’s hole, jamming straight into his prostate. Eddie’s back arches with enough force to temporarily lift him off the bed, and when he collapses back, he’s finally sobbing in earnest. “Isn’t this enough? Are you really such a greedy little slut that you want my cock, too?”

“R-R- Richie,” Eddie moans. Richie can’t believe that Mrs. K hasn’t woken up with how loud Eddie has been this entire time, and he thanks whatever gods he was praying to before that this plan is working in his favor. Eddie is so far gone that he’s not afraid to be loud or messy, giving Richie the perfect opportunity to fuck him into an entirely different state of bliss. 

“Beg for it, then,” Richie orders. He jerks his fingers out of Eddie with as little fanfare as he first put them in, watching as Eddie’s hole clenches desperately around nothing. Eddie sobs again above him, dissatisfied. 

Richie leans back and, finally, shrugs off the sweltering coat, relishing in Eddie’s attention as he shrugs it off his shoulders and tosses it somewhere to the floor. He leans back and grabs hold of his dick, brushing the tip of it against Eddie’s hole without going in, and laughs as he watches Eddie clench around nothing again. “You’re such a slut,” he says, still laughing. “I’m not sure there’s a limit to how much I could fuck you. You could take it forever, Eds. Over and over, begging and crying, and it would never be enough.”

“I want it,” Eddie says frantically, his words garbled by the tears. “I want your dick, Richie, I need it. I need you in me. I need you to fuck me, please, please, please…”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll be so good,” he promises. “I’ll be a good boy, and you won’t have to teach me any lessons. You can fuck me until I cry or bleed, you can fuck me until I can’t walk, until I can’t even breathe… please, god, Richie…I’ll be good, I’ll be the best, I just n-n-need you.”

Richie smooths his other hand over Eddie’s stomach. “You’ll feel me here,” he swears, before leaning forward and pressing his dick against his stomach. “All the way in your stomach, in your back. I’ll make sure you don’t walk. I’ll split you in half, Eddie, you’re not going to feel a thing but my dick. You’re not going to want to feel anything else.”

“I won’t,” Eddie agrees. “Just want you, Rich, only you, please. Fuck me. I just want…”

“What?”

“I need it!” Eddie cries, throwing his head to the side again. Richie leans forward on instinct, drawn to the exposed curse of his neck, and he drags his teeth down the skin while rubbing the head of his dick against Eddie’s hole. He can feel his own pre-cum trickling down the shaft, warm and sticky, and he smears some of it against Eddie to lubricate him further. They both know what’s coming no matter how hard Richie teases him or how desperately Eddie begs. They’ll both get what they want, and they’ll both enjoy every second. 

“Okay,” Richie says, finally, relenting once he lifts a hand to brush away the tears on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie turns his head back to Richie, blinking through the fresh wave of tears that cropped up while he begged. “Okay?” Eddie repeats, and there’s so much fucking hope in his voice.

“Yeah, you little slut,” Richie tells him, the words tumbling out of him without permission. “Who’s gonna say no to you when you’re begging like that? You want my cock so bad, then you can have it, baby.” 

“Thank you,” Eddie babbles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you– ”

“I’ll give it to you exactly like you asked,” Richie promises, and for a moment neither one of them are in the scenario. It’s a quiet switch, hardly noticeable, except for the way that Eddie’s eyes bore into Richie’s with genuine love and appreciation. “You’ll feel it for days.”

“Good,” Eddie whispers, forceful and sure. “Make me feel it, Richie. Give it to me.”

“I will.” He ducks forward to kiss him, open-mouthed. Eddie strains against the leather belt, and Richie imagines that he’s running his hands through his hair the way he likes, tugging at the roots, despite the fact that Eddie remains perfectly still. “You’ve earned it, baby.” He leans back and searches the room for his pants, forgetting that he’d tucked away condoms and lube in the pockets before he left. “Just let me grab a–”

Eddie bucks up against him with a groan, drawing Richie’s eyes back to him. Frantically, he shakes his head and Richie freezes in place, a hand still wrapped around the base of his dick and resting dangerously close to Eddie’s ass. “What? What is it? Are you not–”

“No condom.”

Richie blinks hard, feeling dizzy. He’s sure that he’s dreaming. They always use condoms, because that makes Eddie feel safer. “Eds, come on, we always–”

“No condom,” Eddie repeats, clearer than before. “Rich, I know you’re fucking clean. I’m clean. Please. I don’t want to wait, I want to feel you, Richie. Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. He squeezes his hand around his dick to keep from blowing his load right there. “Baby, yes, Jesus Christ. Whatever you want. I’ll give it to you like this. Wanna feel you, wanna know exactly how you take it when I come inside you. Do you want it like that, baby? Do you want to be a good boy and take every last drop until it’s dripping out of you?”

Eddie cries out, turning into the pillow again to muffle himself. “I want that,” Richie continues, feeling delirious. He spits in his hand, too impatient to get up and find the lube just for his dick, not when there’s already a generous amount in Eddie and a hell of a lot more saliva to ease the way. Somehow, he thinks Eddie won’t mind. He hisses at even this much friction, not sure how he’s supposed to last long enough to get Eddie to where he wants him, so fucking dazed that he’ll never come back down. “I want to fuck you and paint your insides with cum, Eds. It’ll be the whitest Christmas you’ve ever known. I want to keep it all in there. Let my cock stay warm right there in your ass. I want you to feel me for weeks, Eddie.”

“M-me too,” Eddie pants, shivering beneath Richie. God, they’re not even fucking yet and Richie can tell that neither one has ever been this turned on before.. He’s not going to be responsible for whatever happens when he finally sinks inside Eddie, when he feels the tight warmth of his walls on his bare dick for the first time like this, completely raw. 

“I’m not going to last,” Richie warns.

Eddie shivers again. “Try,” Eddie says, and it’s as close to a command as he’s gotten in all night. 

Richie huffs out a laugh, thoroughly charmed despite his best efforts. “Well, fuck, when you say it like that, how could I not?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at him, momentarily amused. “Can you shut up and just – fuck!”

Whatever complaints Eddie has are lost the moment Richie drives himself inside as far as possible. Even with four fingers, Richie is too thick for Eddie to take in one fell swoop. But it’s never stopped him from trying anyway. He thrusts shallowly and quickly, impatient for Eddie to get accustomed to his size so that he can fuck him completely. He doesn’t want to take his time. 

“Shit, Eddie,” Richie hisses, unable to articulate another word. Fucking him without a condom was an entirely new sensation. He could feel every inch of Eddie’s insides, each ridge and muscle fluttering and pulsing around him. The heat of him is scorching against Richie’s cock, and he feels like he’s being sucked into another dimension entirely. Each thrust makes this wet squelching sound – clearly, Richie underestimated how wet he’d gotten Eddie earlier or how fervently he’d eaten him out. He lets out a broken moan, consumed by the tight heat clenching around him, holding him in place. “Eds, Eddie, baby–”

“Richie,” Eddie pants. “Can you–I want–”

As if reading his mind, Richie reaches out and helps guide Eddie, following his lead, and together they reposition him until he’s facing the headboard with Richie hovering above. “Are you sure?” he asks, nervous about how much Eddie is going to feel like this – getting fucked on his knees, facing the bedpost, the entire weight of Richie on top of him. 

“Of course I’m fucking sure,” Eddie complains, sounding breathless. “You better not hold back, asshole.”

Richie snorts out a laugh. “If you wanted me to suffocate you, all you had to do was ask.” He’s half-kidding, but Eddie whimpers at that, much to his surprise.

While they repositioned, he’d been holding himself still in Eddie, almost like a living dildo. When he moves again, quickly snapping his hips forward, he groans at the unexpected slide of his dick into Eddie. The new position and the time to adjust has granted him even more access, and he moves inside of Eddie comfortably now, drilling into his ass. 

Eddie moans, too, pushing backwards so that Richie slips even further inside. “Jesus Christ,” Richie grits out. “Eddie, fuck, you feel–” He cuts himself off, unable to articulate how it feels like he’s fucking into the very core of the Earth. The heat of Eddie surrounding him on all sides is unbearable and insanely sexy, all at once. Richie wants to drown in this feeling. 

“You’re so hard,” Eddie whimpers. “Fuck, Rich, I can feel you so deep inside me. I can feel you everywhere. I need you to move or I’m going to explode.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Fuck me hard,” Eddie emphasizes, and it’s all the green light Richie needs. Deciding to test Eddie’s earlier moan, he snakes one hand around Eddie’s throat and applies loose pressure, and it goes straight to his dick when he lets out a broken, pleased gasp against his palm. 

He takes it a step further and plunges his hips into Eddie hard, just like he asked, going so far inside that he’s pretty sure they both see stars.

Richie grunts as he snaps his hips forward, dragging each thrust out slowly. Not to avoid hurting Eddie as much as it is for him to keep from coming too soon. Eddie pants as much as possible throughout, trying to get air into his lungs. He loses half of it to the small, involuntary cries each time Richie brushes past his prostate. They both take the time to savor the feeling of Richie inside him, rearranging his guts and straining Eddie’s body past its breaking point.

“Fa-a-a-aster,” Eddie pants, moaning with each push of Richie’s hips. He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips and squeezes tighter on impulse. Eddie makes a pretty, garbled choking noise and chokes out another word that sounds suspiciously like please, which is all the encouragement Richie needs.

He fucks him with all he’s got, skin slapping against each other almost as loud as Eddie’s cries. Richie grinds his dick into Eddie at alternating speeds, pushing to see how far he can fill him up. Eddie swallows every single inch, greedy, his ass sucking him into another dimension. Richie doesn’t think he’s ever fucked him this deeply before, or maybe it only feels that way, time losing meaning at the altar of Eddie’s ass, thighs, and dick. 

Richie looks down and realizes suddenly that Eddie has taken his entire dick. He watches in amazement at how he moves out of Eddie and disappears inside him again, bottoming out and buried to the hilt. “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” he says, his own voice faint. “Fuck, you’re swallowing me whole. You’re taking it so well.”

Eddie whimpers, unable to fully form a single word.

“You look so good from back here, sweetheart,” Richie tells him, leaning forward to kiss the back of his neck. “Taking it like a fucking champ, just like the slut I always knew you were. Santa’s favorite little whore, right? I knew you were going to be good for me. I knew the moment you sat down on my lap and I could feel your little dick, hard and aching already for me.”

Eddie moans again. “R-Rich…”

“Yeah, Eds, come on,” he says, knowing he’s not going to last much longer. He resorts to his words like always, prodding and poking at Eddie until they’re on the same level. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Fucking you raw like this, feeling your insides… it’s so fucking hot. You’re so tight and wet and pretty, Eddie. Look at your hole, swallowing me up, sucking me in… you wanted this. You’ve been begging for this, gagging for it, and what else can I do but give you what you want? I’ll give you everything I’ve got. You know that, baby.”

Richie groans, drilling his dick even harder into Eddie, and he hears the mattress creak beneath them. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been planning this… how long I’ve dreamed about coming into this room and fucking you right here, right under her roof. It’s your roof, too, Eds. You get to do whatever the fuck you want. Even better, you get to do me.”  

Richie’s words must be working. Eddie lets out another loud keening noise, his frantic gasps exhaled in time with Richie’s thrusts. Richie fucks him so hard that, by now, he can feel Eddie’s balls are hitting his skin hard, like a vibration that echoes through his body. “Always wanted you under me like this, moaning like a whore,” Richie continues, only half-aware of what he’s saying. “You’re so greedy for it, baby. I knew it all along, the way you love to be thrown around, the way you’re just begging to get bossed around for once. Knew you’d like this.”

Richie grinds his dick into him, shifting the angle of his thrusts until he feels the smooth ridge of his prostate and plows into him even harder than he thought possible. Eddie stiffens and starts to shiver beneath him, and Richie knows that he won’t last much longer either. “That’s it, Eds. You’ve been so good tonight, so fucking good. Don’t you want to come one last time?”

“I-I do,” he moans, shivering again as Richie hits his prostate a second time. “Richie, fuck, I can’t–’m gonna–”

“You can let go,” Richie promises. He’s not going to last much longer himself, but he can’t come before Eddie does. “You can come. You’ve been so good, you deserve it, don’t you, baby? You wore those cute fucking shorts and let me put my hands all over you, fucked my mouth with your pretty little cock… come on, Eds.”

Eddie moans again, voice pitching higher and higher. Richie braces himself on the headboard and fucks into Eddie with all his strength, pounding into him until the headboard shakes and Eddie right alongside it, choking out gurgled noises beneath Richie’s hands. Eddie squeezes around his dick, practically choking the life out of him . Richie can barely hang on. “Come on, Eddie, come on, you’ve been such a good boy, I want you to come now, you stupid fucking slut–”

It’s the slut that does it in the end. Eddie cries out and twists in Richie’s arms, turning back to face him once more. The position shifts Richie’s cock inside of him even deeper and he hisses, his hips stuttering. His hand falls to Eddie’s cock and starts to jerk him to completion. “Come on, Eds, show me how pretty your dick looks when you’re coming.” Richie pumps him harder, then lifts away his hand to spit in it, before going back to his shaft to keep up the momentum with more friction.

“I–” Eddie says, but whatever words he tries to speak get lost in the sudden, near violent way he starts to quake beneath Richie, his dick jumping in Richie’s hand. He shoots out white ropes across his own chest, and Richie leans down to lap at it without a second thought. That makes Eddie moan again, and sets off another wave of his orgasm that dribbles pathetically against Richie’s hands. He laps that up, too, thirsty for all of Eddie’s cum. 

Eddie shakes apart beneath him, sobbing, and Richie can’t wait much longer. He thrust a few more times, taking great pleasure in the way Eddie cries out, slightly pained and clearly overstimulated. It’s when Eddie pries his tearful eyes open and fixes his gaze on Richie, eyes blown in wonder, that Richie finally comes, filling Eddie up with the warmth of his cum. 

He comes for almost an entire minute, shaking a bit as he fills Eddie up and keeping his cock still so that none of it dribbles out. “Fuck, shit, Eddie,” Richie groans, incapable of forming any other words. Eddie clenches around him still, staring up at Richie with an expression so far beyond fucked that Richie thinks they might have to come up with a whole new word just to describe him.

They rest like that for a while, Eddie holding Richie’s slowly softening dick in place. It’s only when Richie shifts and Eddie lets out a cry that sounds more painful than pleased that Richie decides he’s had enough. He grips his cock, hissing a bit at his own sensitivity, and guides it out slowly. As he moves, he can see the white of his cum dripping out behind him. He slides a thumb into Eddie’s hole and shallowly fucks it back inside, listening for the quiet pant of Eddie’s breath with each plunge to make sure that it’s not hurting him. 

Once he’s satisfied that he’s left his mark by thoroughly coating Eddie’s insides with cum, he turns his attention fully towards him. “All good, baby?”

Eddie nods and then winces, like even that much movement hurts. Richie leans forward and kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his damp eyelashes where they brush against cheekbones. “I’m gonna let you down now,” he murmurs. “You okay with that?”

Eddie hums, sounding tired, so Richie rewards him with another kiss and then gets to work removing the belt buckle. Once he’s got it undone and looped away from the headboard, he takes Eddie’s left arm in his hands and slowly brings it down to the rest of his body, massaging the muscles as he goes to help get his circulation working again. There are white lines criss-crossing his wrists. Richie is a little sorry that Eddie’s going to have marks on his skin, but he finds that his dick twitches pathetically at the image, too, obsessed with this new way he’s staked his claim. He repeats the process to Eddie’s right arm, and it’s enough to stir Eddie a bit from his stupor where he’d been quietly lying there, practically boneless, letting Richie do whatever he wanted. 

“There he is,” Richie whispers, seeing Eddie’s eyes flutter open. “How are you–”

“Was I good?” Eddie pants, interrupting Richie’s attempt to check in with him. His voice is breathy, utterly spent, and it’s all Richie can do not to melt into a puddle at his feet. He sounds desperate – so eager to please, a bright flush settled high on his cheekbones and his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

Richie can’t help himself when he leans forward, peppering Eddie’s face and neck with soft, featherlight kisses, so different from how they were only minutes before. “You were so fucking good, Eddie,” he murmurs, cupping his hands around Eddie’s face. 

Eddie beams at the praise, his smile like a ray of sunshine cutting through the night. “Yeah?”

Richie hums, smoothing a hand down his body until he reaches his waist. “So fucking good, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s eyes slide shut and he smiles, letting out a long, soft sigh. He looks so comfortable and blissed out, melting back into the bed like he’s one with the mattress. Richie feels a sense of pride in his chest – that he could bring Eddie to this state, and that Eddie was completely relaxed, more than he’d ever seen him before. Richie was the one who brought that out of him. 

He leans forward, unable to stop himself, and kisses Eddie with his mouth open, tongue searching. Eddie sighs again and opens his mouth like a flower to the morning sun, letting Richie kiss him wet and slow. He makes a quiet little keening noise when Richie’s hands wander down to his hole again, still sore from where Richie had just stretched him out, but there’s no pressure behind Richie’s touch now, just soothing comfort. Eddie lets him take as much as he wants, pliant and needy even after he’d been so utterly and completely fucked. 

“Rich,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth. Richie waits for something to come after that, but Eddie falls silent except for the sound of his soft, stuttering breaths. Leaning away from him, he looks down and realizes that Eddie’s eyes are fluttering, struggling to stay open.

“You need to sleep,” he decides. He reaches up to brush against the apple of Eddie’s cheek with his thumb, smiling to himself. “It’s okay, baby, you can go to sleep now.” 

He helps adjust him further down the bed, back to the pillows below them, and brings the blanket back up to cover Eddie, still dressed in nothing but his pajama top hanging loosely open on his body. He thinks Eddie is already drifting in dreamland, but he opens his eyes again and gives Richie a tired smirk. “If I sleep, will Santa come visit me and leave me lots of presents?”

Richie leans forward to press his lips against Eddie’s, huffing out a laugh. “Santa’s going to do you one better. He’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

“Santa’s my present?” Eddie playfully frowns, shifting just enough so that he can curl a hand beneath his pillow. “Sounds like I’m getting screwed for Christmas.”

Richie laughs again, louder this time, and crawls off Eddie just far enough to collapse next to him in bed, assuming the position of the big spoon. “I’m pretty sure that gift already came,” he replies, “but maybe you’ll get lucky and get the same gift twice.”

“I fucking better,” Eddie snarks, but all the heat is lost when he yawns halfway through. 

Richie snuggles closer, curls his arm around Eddie’s waist and pulls them as close as possible, trying not to steal any of the blanket away. He leans across him and blows the candle out on the nightstand, just to be safe. 

“Just go to sleep, you menace,” he answers, but he can tell that Eddie is already there, his breaths evening out into a quiet, steady sound that’s almost a snore. Not that Eddie would ever admit to that, Richie thinks to himself with a smile. He tucks his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, equally spent and pleased, and it’s barely even a few minutes before he follows Eddie into the deepest sleep of his entire life. 

~ 🧑🎄 ~

Richie wakes up on Eddie’s chest a few hours later, the first streaks of sunlight crossing the horizon. He wants to stay curled up forever, but he knows they can’t get caught, so he trails his fingers across Eddie’s side where he’s most ticklish until he snuffles into awakeness.

“Morning,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Eddie’s curls. They’re wild and frizzy after sex, and Richie smiles at the sight, teasing his fingers through them to work out all the knots. “Did you have fun last night, baby?”

Eddie hums, a content, lazy smile stretching across his face. “The best time. Once I was sure you weren’t going to fall to your death.”

Richie lets out an ungraceful snort and claps a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound. “I wasn’t going to die!” he swears, ignoring the fact that he’d very much considered the possibility last night. “I knew you’d catch me.” He leans up and kisses the underside of Eddie’s jaw, soft and sweet, so different from just a few hours ago. “I’m surprised your mom didn’t catch us last night. Guess you do know how to be good after all, Eds.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles. But he’s still smiling, so Richie counts their night together a major success. 

“Seriously, Eddie,” Richie prods, fixing him with a curious look. “Was that okay for you?”

This time, Eddie is the one who lets out an ugly snort. He rolls over, burrowing his face into Richie’s chest for a moment like he’s trying to soak up his body warmth. He pulls back far enough to gaze up at him, propping his chin up on the center of Richie’s chest, just to the right of his heart. “If it wasn’t okay, do you think I would have let it go that far?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Rich,” Eddie states, voice firm. “That was… god, there’s no words. It was fucking incredible. You have to know that. I don’t even know how you knew…” He trails off, cheeks flushing pink. “I wasn’t aware it was that obvious.”

Richie leans forward and kisses both cheeks, smiling as he does. “It wasn’t obvious. I was taking a big fucking gamble that you weren’t going to kick me out the moment I started calling you names.” 

Eddie giggles, a sweet, bell-like sound. “I wanted to push you out the window in the fucking suit, dumbass. If your dick comes into play though… well, that’s a lot more appealing.”

“The suit was just a bit,” Richie assures him. “A funny excuse to show up at your house and distract you from everything else.”

Eddie falls quiet at that for a moment, considering. “It worked,” he admits. “The whole time… I didn’t even care. I wasn’t worried that we were going to get caught.”

“It’s insane that we didn’t,” Richie tells him. “You were so loud. I’ve never heard you like that before.”

Eddie’s blush deepens. “Well, you’ve never done anything I liked that much before,” he answers, sounding defensive. Richie knows he’s bluffing – he’s just a bit embarrassed by how much he liked it. 

He leans down and kisses him on the lips, slow and sweet. Morning breath be damned – somehow, Eddie still smells like peppermint. “It was hot, Eds. I’ve got to find a way to get you like that more often.”

“Not all the time,” Eddie tells him. “I’d go insane. But… yeah. Fuck. It was hot. I want… I’d like to do it again.”

Richie kisses him again, longer this time and with more intent. Eddie opens his mouth and mewls a bit, his tongue exploring the back of Richie’s teeth before he breaks away. “Whatever you want,” Richie promises, uncharacteristically soft. Eddie is the only one that can bring it out of him. “You know I’d do anything in the world for you, Eds.”

“Me, too,” Eddie replies, staring up at Richie like he hung the sun rising above their heads. 

“Hey, but listen… how did it feel? For you?” he asks, voice hushed. “Feeling pushed past your limits like that… was it really okay? I mean, Christ, Eddie. You came three times.” 

This time, Eddie looks a little proud. He should, Richie thinks, because it’s something truly incredible. “It was amazing, ” he admits quietly. 

“Yeah?” Richie prompts, watching him closely.

Eddie nods and shifts in his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “All my life, I was so fucking scared of getting sick or being broken. My mom made me think that was the worst thing that could happen to me. And then I broke my arm, and I realized that pain isn’t the worst thing in the world. Pain teaches me how to be stronger. I figured out I was more resilient than I thought, that being in pain was a kind of… it’s bravery, really. Knowing that you can come out the other side of being hurt and be stronger for it.” 

Richie can’t help himself. He kisses him again, this time at the hollow of his neck, lightly pecking down his chest until he plants one just above his heart. Eddie giggles when he does, rolling himself impossibly closer in Richie’s arms.

“That’s all I wanted for you, Eddie,” Richie confesses. “I just wanted you to feel in control.”

“By losing control?”

Richie hums. “I mean, you had control the entire time. You knew that.”

“Very true,” he agrees, reaching up to curl a hand against Richie’s face. “Thanks, Rich. It’s not your usual kind of gift, but I loved it. Truly.”

Richie grins. “Good. That makes me feel a whole lot better about leaving you here for the rest of today, all by your lonesome self.” 

Eddie pouts at that. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go either, but we both know what happens if your mom catches us. I think we tempted fate enough for one night. Plus, the sun is out now so I can get down that tree without killing myself. And you’ll see me tonight, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I can’t wait to see Home Alone 2 for the seventh time.”

“It’s a Christmas classic, Eddie! You’ll see,” Richie swears, getting up from Eddie’s bed to retrieve his underwear and the Santa suit. He wishes he could stay in Eddie’s bed forever. No crazy mom downstairs, no responsibilities, no more hiding in this stupid fucking town. But someday, Richie marvels, picturing their entire future. Someday they’ll have all this and more. 

When he sits on the edge of the bed to shrug on the jacket, Eddie’s hands reach out and stop him, forcing the fabric to still on his arms. “You’re covered in bruises back here!” he cries out. Gently, his hands skirt the expanse of his lower back, fingers prodding the bruises at Richie’s waist from where he’d been dragged across the windowsill. He moves to Richie’s lower back, pressing into the dimples just above, and Richie winces when he brushes another bruise. “What the fuck happened?”

“You happened, you fucking maniac,” Richie grumbles good-naturedly. “That and me falling about twenty feet into the snow.”

“You fell into the snow? What the fuck, are you okay?”

“Aw, Eds, baby, I’m fine,” Richie laughs, turning back around to meet Eddie’s eyes. There’s worry tucked in them, and it warms Richie’s heart to see that Eddie cares so much. “Don’t worry about me. If I wasn’t fine, you wouldn’t have gotten fucked that hard last night.” 

Eddie swats his back hard, suddenly uncaring about the bruises there. “Fuck you!”

Richie laughs and catches his wrists, examining the skin. “Besides, you’re the one who should worry about marks. You’ll have to hide your wrists for a week at least.”

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up in confusion. He lifts his hands to his face, inspecting his wrists closely. Richie leans forward and traces the purple-red lines criss-crossing his arm from the belt, a spark of heat making itself known deep in his stomach. “So fucking hot,” he murmurs, and without thinking, he purses his lips and blows across Eddie’s skin. 

Richie watches him shiver, dropping his arms to reach back out for Richie. “Good thing it’s the middle of winter,” Eddie answers. “I’ll just wear long sleeves until they go away.”

“But you run so warm,” Richie teases. “How will you survive without wearing your cute little pajama tops and those tight little shorts?”

Eddie reaches out and smacks Richie in the chest, fighting a smile. “You need to stop being horny over the shorts I wore when I was a kid, you fucking weirdo.”

“But I loved you in those shorts as a kid! I get a free pass!”

“That’s what a predator would say, Richie.”

“But Eds,” he whines, pouting. “I loved you for reasons that weren’t just the shorts, even back then!”

Eddie melts a bit at that, temporarily appeased. “Well… maybe you get a pass. Just this once.” 

Incapable of not ruining a moment, Richie does a dramatic fist pump. Eddie rolls his eyes again, but he can’t hide that charmed smile, dimples peeking out.

Richie shrugs on the rest of his outfit and zips the jacket up, praying that it’s warmer this morning with the sun out than it was last night. “So I’ll see you at the Capitol, right? Seven o’clock?”

Eddie nods, curling the blanket over his lower half, still unclothed. “Don’t worry. She’s not going to complain about it. As long as I make it through Christmas dinner.”

They both wince, thinking about the canned cranberry sauce and bone-dry turkey awaiting Eddie later. “I’ll buy extra snacks tonight,” Richie offers.

Eddie grins in reply, his eyes lighting up. “You better make the popcorn extra buttery.”

“As if there’s any other way to have it,” Richie scoffs. He leans down to give Eddie one last lingering kiss. 

When he goes to pull away, Eddie grabs hold of his chin and stops Richie in his tracks, staring up into his eyes with an adoring stare. “Seriously,” he tells him, searching Richie’s expression. “Best Christmas gift ever. Good luck topping this next year.”

“Topping?” Richie replies, smirking when Eddie’s brow pinches in that way he adores. “If you wanted to do that, all you had to do was ask, Eddie, baby.”

“You’re insufferable,” he answers, “but I love you anyway.”

Richie must be the Grinch, because it feels like his heart grows three sizes too big in his chest. “I love you, too. Now, go back to sleep. You need lots of rest if you’re going to be able to bike downtown tonight.”

Eddie winces slightly but then smiles, any thoughts of pain slipping away like water. “Safe travels down the tree, Santa. I’ll be real good for you while you’re gone.”

Richie blinks behind his glasses, eyes owlish. “You’re insane,” he declares, and pulls himself away before he can even think of a round two. There will be time for that on another day. Plenty of time to see how far he can push, and how far Eddie can bend before he breaks. “See you later,” he whispers, taking care to open the window slowly and close it just as softly behind him. By the time he’s settled on the tree, about to wave goodbye, Eddie has already curled back up and drifted off to sleep, a peaceful smile on his face. 

“Happy Christmas to all,” Richie mutters to himself, smiling as he makes his way down a more familiar path on the tree, “and to all a good night.”